-X 


NUMBER 


7 


THE   PROOF   OF   THE    PUDDING 


:NOW    WE  'RE    IN    FOR    IT!"    SAID   NAN 
UNCOMFORTABLY 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE 
PUDDING 


BY 


MEREDITH   NICHOLSON 


With  Illustrations 


Banta  Monica  Pnblio  Library 

MAY       1016 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

CI)c  ftiiicrsi&r  press  Cambridge 
1916 


COPYRIGHT,    1915    AND    1916,    BY    THE    RED    BOOK    CORPORATION 
COPYRIGHT,    Iyl6,    BY    MEREDITH    NICHOLSON 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Btcljolson 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING.     Illustrated. 
THE   POET.      Illustrated. 

OTHERWISE  PHYLLIS.  With  frontispiece  in  color. 
THE      PROVINCIAL     AMERICAN     AND     OTHER 

PAPERS. 
A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE.     With  illustrations. 

THE    SIEGE  OF  THE   SEVEN    SUITORS.     With 
illustrations. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFI.IN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  XRW  YDRK 


TO 
CARLETON  B.  McCULLOCH 


CONTENTS 

I.  A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS  i 

II.  THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.  COPELAND       .  20 

III.  MR.  FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT      .  .     39 

IV.  NAN  AND  BILLY'S  WIFE       ...  57 
V.  A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS  .        .         .  .68 

VI.  AN  ERROR  OF  JUDGMENT     ...         87 

VII.  WELCOME  CALLERS 99 

VIII.  MRS.  COPELAND'S  GOOD  FORTUNE      .       113 

IX.  A  NARROW  ESCAPE 124 

X.  THE  AMBITIONS  OF  MR.  AMIDON        .       136 

XI.  CANOEING 151 

XII.  LAST  WILLS  AND  TESTAMENTS     .        .       165 

XIII.  A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES  175 

XIV.  BILLS  PAYABLE 194 

XV.  FATE  AND  BILLY  COPELAND    .        .        .  208 

XVI.  AN  ABRUPT  ENDING     ....       226 

XVII.  SHADOWS 243 

XVIII.  NAN  AGAINST  NAN       ....       256 

XIX.    NOT   ACCORDING   TO   LAW  ....    263 

XX.  THE  COPELAND- FARLEY  CELLAR  .        .       275 
XXI.  A  SOLVENT  HOUSE 283 

vii 


CONTENTS 

XXII.  NULL  AND  VOID 292 

XXIII.  IN  TRUST 301 

XXIV.  "I    NEVER   STOPPED   LOVING   HIM!".  .    317 

XXV.  COPELAND'S  UNKNOWN  BENEFACTOR  .       327 

XXVI.  JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS       ....  337 

XXVII.  "JusT  HELPING;  JUST  BEING  KIND!"  .       354 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Now  WE'RE  IN  FOR  IT!"  SAID  NAN  UNCOMFORT 
ABLY  .......  Frontispiece 

"A  VERY  CHARMING  PERSON  —  A  LITTLE  DEVILISH, 

BUT   KEEN   AND   AMUSING" 26 

"On,  I  HAD  ONE  GLASS;  NOBODY  HAD  MORE,  I 
THINK;  THERE  WAS  SOME  KIND  OF  MINERAL 

WATER    BESIDES.     IT   WAS    ALL    VERY    SIMPLE"      .      44 

NAN  EXPERIENCED  SUDDENLY  A  DISTURBING  SENSE 

OF   HER   INFERIORITY   TO   THIS   WOMAN  .  .      62 

"  I  'M  NOT  LOSING  ANYTHING;  AND  BESIDES,  I  'M  HAV 
ING  A  MIGHTY  GOOD  TIME"  .  .  .  .66 

THE  FURTIVE  TOUCH  OF  HIS  HAND  SEEMED  TO  ESTAB 
LISH  AN  UNDERSTANDING  BETWEEN  THEM  THAT 
THEY  WERE  SPECTATORS,  NOT  PARTICIPANTS  IN 
THE  REVEL  .......  l88 

THE  TOUCH  OF  HER  WET  CHEEK  THRILLED  HIM       .  372 

From  drawings  by  C.  H.  Toffs 


THE   PROOF  OF  THE 
PUDDING 

CHAPTER   I    ^  x/   ^    y  V 

A   YOUNG   LADY   OF   MOODS 

IT  was  three  o'clock,  but  the  luncheon  the  Kin- 
neys  were  giving  at  the  Country  Club  had  survived 
the  passing  of  less  leisurely  patrons  and  now  domi 
nated  the  house.  The  negro  waiters,  having  served 
all  the  food  and  drink  prescribed,  perched  on  the 
railing  of  the  veranda  outside  the  dining-room, 
ready  to  offer  further  liquids  if  they  should  be  de 
manded.  Such  demands  had  not  been  infrequent 
during  the  two  hours  that  had  intervened  since  the 
party  sat  down,  as  a  row  of  empty  champagne 
bottles  in  the  club  pantry  testified.  The  negroes 
watched  with  discreet  grins  the  antics  of  a  girl  of 
twenty-two  who  seemed  to  be  the  center  of  inter 
est.  She  had  been  entertaining  the  company  with 
a  variety  of  impersonations  of  local  characters, 
rising  and  moving  about  for  the  better  display  of 
her  powers  of  mimicry.  Hand-clapping  and  cries 
of  "Go  on!"  followed  each  of  these  performances. 

She  concluded  an  imitation  of  the  head  waiter  — 
a  pompous  individual  who  had  viewed  this  im 
piety  with  mixed  emotions  —  and  sank  exhausted 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

into  her  chair  amid  boisterous  laughter.  The  flush 
in  her  cheeks  was  not  wholly  attributable  to  the 
heat  of  the  June  day,  and  the  eagerness  with  which 
she  gulped  a  glass  of  champagne  one  of  the  men 
handed  her  suggested  a  familiar  acquaintance  with 
that  beverage. 

"Now,  Nan,  give  us  Daddy  Farley.  Do  old 
Uncle  Tim  cussing  the  doctor  —  put  it  all  in  — 
that's  a  good  little  Nan!" 

"Go  to  it,  Nan;  we've  got  to  have  it!"  cried 
Mrs.  Kinney. 

"I  think  it  will  kill  me  to  hear  it  again,"  pro 
tested  Billy  Copeland,  who  was  refilling  the  girl's 
glass;  "but  I'd  be  glad  to  die  laughing.  It's  the 
funniest  stunt  you  ever  did." 

The  girl's  arms  hung  limp,  and  she  sat,  a  crum 
pled,  dejected  figure,  glancing  about  frowningly 
with  dull  eyes. 

"I'm  all  in;  there's  nothing  doing,"  she  replied 
•tamely. 

"Oh,  come  along,  Nan.  We '11  go  for  a  spin  in  the 
country  right  afterwards,"  said  Mrs.  Kinney - 
who  had  just  confided  to  a  guest  from  Pittsburg, 
for  whom  the  party  was  given,  that  Nan's  imi 
tation  of  Daddy  Farley  abusing  his  doctor  was 
the  killingest  thing  ever,  and  that  she  just  must 
hear  it. 

Their  importunities  were  renewed  to  the  accom 
paniment  of  much  thumping  of  the  table,  and 
suddenly  the  girl  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  seemed 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

immediately  transformed  as  she  began  a  minute 
representation  of  the  gait  and  speech  of  an  old 
man. 

"You  ignorant  blackguard!  you  common,  low 
piece  of  swine-meat !  How  dare  you  come  day  after 
day  to  torture  me  with  your  filthy  nostrums! 
You've  poured  enough  dope  into  me  to  float  a 
battleship  and  given  me  pills  enough  to  sink  it,  and 
here  I  am  limpin'  around  like  a  spavined  horse,  and 
no  more  chance  o'  gettin'  out  o'  here  again  than  I 
have  of  goin'  to  heaven !  What 's  that !  You  got  the 
cheek  to  offer  to  give  up  the  case!  Just  like  you  to 
want  to  turn  me  over  to  some  other  pirate  and  keep 
me  movin'  till  the  undertaker  comes  along  and 
hangs  out  the  crape !  There 's  been  a  dozen  o'  you 
flutterin'  in  here  like  hungry  sparrows  lookin'  for 
worms.  You  don't  see  anything  in  my  old  carcass 
but  worm-food!  Hi,  you!  What  you  up  to  now? 
Oh,  Lord,  don't  leave  me!  Come  back  here;  come 
back  here,  I  say !  Oh,  my  damned  legs !  How  long 
you  say  I'd  better  take  that  poison  you  sent  up 
here  yesterday?  Well,  all  right"  -meekly  —  "I 
guess  I'll  try  it.  Where's  that  nurse  gone?  You 
better  tell  her  again  about  the  treatment.  She  for 
gets  it  half  the  time;  tell  her  to  double  the  dose. 
If  I've  got  to  die,  I  want  to  die  full  o'  poison  to 
make  it  easier  for  the  embalmer.  I  guess  you're 
all  right,  doc;  but  you're  slow,  mighty  damned 
slow.  Hi,  Nan,  you  grinnin'  little  fool,  who  told  you 
to  come  in  here?  Oh,  Lord!  Oh,  my  poor  legs!  Oh, 

3 


for  God's  sake,  doctor,  do  something  for  me  —  do 
something  forme!" 

She  tottered  toward  her  chair,  imaginably  the 
bed  from  which  the  old  man  had  risen,  and  glanced 
at  her  audience  indifferently,  as  they  broke  into 
hilarious  applause.  The  vulgarity  of  the  exhibi 
tion  was  mitigated  somewhat  by  her  amazing  suc 
cess  in  sinking  herself  in  another  personality.  They 
all  knew  that  the  man  she  was  imitating  was  her 
foster-father  and  benefactor;  that  he  had  rescued 
her  from  obscure,  hopeless  poverty,  educated  her 
and  given  her  his  name;  and  that  but  for  his  be 
nevolence  they  never  would  have  known  or  heard 
of  her;  but  this  clearly  was  not  a  company  that 
was  fastidious  in  such  matters.  The  exhibition  of 
her  cleverness  had  been  highly  diverting.  They 
waved  their  napkins  and  demanded  more. 

She  continued  to  survey  them  coldly,  standing  by 
her  chair  and  absently  biting  her  lip.  Then  she 
turned  with  an  air  of  disdain  and  moved  among  the 
tables  to  the  nearest  door  with  languid  deliberation. 
They  watched  her  dully,  mystified.  This  possibly 
was  a  prelude  to  some  further  contribution  to  the 
hour's  entertainment,  and  they  craned  their  necks 
to  follow  her,  expecting  that  at  any  moment  she 
would  turn  back. 

The  screen  door  banged  harshly  upon  her  exit. 
She  crossed  the  veranda,  ran  down  the  steps  toward 
the  canal  that  lay  a  little  below  the  clubhouse,  and 
hurried  away  as  though  anxious  to  escape  pursuit 

4 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

or  questioning.  She  came  presently  to  the  river, 
pressed  through  a  tangle  of  briars  and  threw  herself 
down  on  the  bank  under  a  majestic  sycamore. 

A  woodpecker  drummed  upon  a  dead  limb  of  the 
tree,  and  a  kingfisher  looked  down  at  her  wonder- 
ingly.  She  lay  perfectly  quiet  with  her  face  buried 
in  the  grass.  Hers  was  not  a  happy  frame  of  mind. 
Torn  with  contrition,  she  yielded  herself  to  the  lux 
ury  of  self-scorn.  She  had  no  intention  of  returning 
immediately  to  the  clubhouse,  and  she  was  infinitely 
relieved  that  none  of  her  late  companions  had  fol 
lowed  her.  She  wished  that  she  might  never  see 
them  again.  Then  her  mood  changed  and  she  sat 
up,  flung  aside  her  hat,  dipped  her  handkerchief  in 
the  river  and  held  it  to  her  burning  face. 

"You  little  fool,  you  silly  little  fool!"  she  said, 
addressing  her  reflection  in  the  water.  She  spoke 
as  though  quoting,  which  was  indeed  exactly  what 
she  was  doing.  It  was  just  such  endearing  terms 
that  her  foster-father  applied  to  her  in  his  frequent 
fits  of  anger. 

Then  she  stretched  herself  at  ease  with  her  hands 
clasped  under  her  head  and  stared  at  the  sky.  Be 
neath  the  cloud  of  loosened  black  hair  that  her  vari 
ous  exertions  had  shaken  free,  her  violet  eyes  were 
fine  and  expressive.  Her  face  was  slender,  with  dim 
ples  near  the  corners  of  her  mouth :  a  sensitive  face, 
still  fresh  and  girlish.  Her  fairness  was  that  of  her 
type — a  type  markedly  Irish.  The  wet  handker 
chief  that  had  brought  away  a  faint  blotch  of  scarlet 

5 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

from  her  rather  full  lips  had  left  them  still  red  with 
the  sufficient  color  of  youthful  health.  Lying  relaxed 
for  half  an  hour,  watching  the  lazily  drifting  white 
clouds,  she  became  tranquillized.  Her  eyes  lost 
their  restlessness  as  she  gazed  dreamily  at  the 
heavens. 

The  soft  splash  of  oars  caused  her  to  lift  her  head 
guardedly  and  glance  out  upon  the  river.  A  young 
man  was  deftly  urging  a  cedar  skiff  toward  a  huge 
elm  that  had  been  uprooted  by  a  spring  storm  and 
lay  with  half  its  trunk  submerged.  He  jumped  out 
and  tied  the  skiff  to  a  convenient  limb  and  then, 
standing  on  the  trunk,  adjusted  a  rod  and  line  and 
began  amusing  himself  by  dropping  a  brilliant  fly 
here  and  there  on  the  rippling  surface.  It  was  in 
conceivable  that  any  one  should  imagine  that  fish 
were  to  be  wooed  and  won  in  this  part  of  the 
stream;  even  Nan  knew  better  than  that.  But 
failures  apparently  did  not  diminish  the  pleasure 
the  fisherman  found  in  his  occupation. 

He  was  small  and  compactly  made  and  wore 
white  flannel  trousers,  canvas  shoes,  and  a  pink 
shirt  with  a  four-in-hand  to  match.  He  moved 
about  freely  on  the  log  to  give  variety  to  his  experi 
ments;  he  was  indeed  much  nimbler  with  his  feet 
than  with  his  hands,  for  his  whipping  of  the  stream 
lacked  the  sophistication  of  skilled  fly-casting.  He 
lighted  a  cigarette  without  abating  his  efforts,  and 
commented  audibly  upon  his  stupidity  when  a  too- 
vigorous  twist  of  the  wrist  sent  the  fly  into  a  sap- 

6 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

ling,  from  which  he  extricated  it  with  the  greatest 
difficulty. 

He  was  not  of  her  world,  Nan  reflected,  peering 
at  him  through  the  fringing  willows.  She  knew  most 
of  the  young  gentlemen  who  attended  dances  or 
played  tennis  and  golf  at  the  Country  Club,  and  he 
was  not  of  their  species.  Once  in  making  a  long  cast 
his  foot  slipped,  and  he  capered  wildly  while  regain 
ing  his  balance,  fell  astraddle  of  the  log,  and  one 
shoe  shipped  water.  He  glanced  about  to  make 
sure  this  misfortune  had  not  been  observed,  shook 
the  water  out  of  his  shoe  and  lighted  a  fresh 
cigarette. 

She  admired  the  dexterity  with  which  he  held  the 
rod  under  his  arm,  manipulated  the  "makings" 
and  had  the  little  cylinder  burning  in  a  jiffy  and 
hanging  to  his  lip  —  a  fashion  of  carrying  a  cigar 
ette  not  affected  by  the  young  gentlemen  she  knew. 
It  was  just  a  little  rakish ;  but  he  was,  she  surmised, 
a  rather  rakish  young  man.  A  gray  cap  tilted  over 
one  ear  exaggerated  his  youthful  appearance;  his 
countenance  was  still  round  and  boyish,  though  she 
judged  him  to  be  older  than  herself. 

The  patience  and  industry  with  which  he  plied 
the  rod  were  admirable:  though  there  was  not  the 
slightest  probability  that  a  fish  would  snap  at  the 
fly,  he  continued  his  futile  casting  with  the  utmost 
zeal  and  good  humor.  His  sinewy  arms  were  white 
-  which,  being  interpreted,  meant  that  their  ex 
posure  to  the  sun  had  not  been  as  constant  as  might 

7 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

be  expected  of  one  who  was  lord  of  his  own  time 
and  devoted  to  athletics.  She  was  wondering 
whether  he  intended  to  continue  his  exercise  in 
definitely,  when  his  efforts  to  extricate  the  fly  from 
a  tangle  of  water-grass  freed  it  unexpectedly,  and 
the  line  described  a  semicircle  and  caught  a  limb  of 
the  sycamore  under  which  she  was  lying. 

His  vigorous  tugs  only  tightened  it  the  more,  and 
she  began  speculating  as  to  whether  she  should 
rise  and  loosen  it  or  await  his  own  solution  of  the 
difficulty.  If  it  became  necessary  for  him  to  leave  the 
fallen  tree  to  effect  a  rescue,  he  must  find  her  hid 
ing-place;  and  her  dignity,  she  argued,  would  suf 
fer  if  she  allowed  him  to  discover  that  she  had  been 
watching  him.  He  now  began  moving  toward  the 
bank  with  the  becoming  air  of  determination  that 
had  attended  his  practice  with  the  rod.  She  rose 
quickly,  jumped  up  and  caught  the  bough  that 
held  the  fly,  and  tore  it  loose  with  a  handful  of 
leaves. 

" Lordy ! "  he  exclaimed,  staring  hard.  "Did  you 
buy  a  ticket  for  this  show,  or  did  you  stroll  in  on 
a  rain-check?" 

"Oh,  I  was  here  first;  but  it  is  n't  my  river!" 
she  replied  easily.  "They  don't  seem  to  be  biting 
very  well,"  she  added  consolingly. 

"Biting?  Well,  I  should  say  not!  There  has  n't 
been  a  minnow  in  this  river  since  the  Indians  left. 
I'm  just  practicing." 

"You've  done  a  lot  of  it,"  said  Nan,  looking 

8 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

about  for  her  hat  and  picking  it  up  as  an  earnest 
of  her  immediate  departure. 

He  dropped  his  rod  and  walked  toward  her 
guardedly  and  with  an  assumed  carelessness,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"That 's  one  good  thing  about  fly-fishing,"  he  ob 
served  detainingly;  "you  don't  need  to  bother 
about  the  fish  so  long  as  there's  plenty  of  water." 

He  noted  the  handkerchief  that  she  had  spread  on 
a  bush  to  dry,  and  eyed  her  with  appreciation  as 
she  thrust  the  pins  through  her  hat. 

"Country  Club?"  he  asked  casually. 

She  nodded  affirmatively,  glancing  toward  the 
red  roof  of  the  clubhouse,  and  brushed  the  bits  of 
bark  and  earth  from  her  skirt.  If  he  meant  to 
annoy  her  with  further  conversation,  it  might  be 
just  as  well  to  make  it  clear  that  the  club  afforded 
an  easily  accessible  refuge. 

"  Excuse  me,  but  you  're  Miss  Farley,  —  yes?  It 's 
kind  o'  funny,"  he  continued,  still  lounging  toward 
her,  "but  I  remember  you  away  back  when  we  were 
both  kids  —  my  name  being  Amidon  —  Jeremiah 
A.,  late  of  good  old  Perry  County  on  La  Belle 
Riviere  —  and  I  Ve  seen  you  lots  o'  times  down 
town.  I  'm  connected  in  a  minor  capacity  with  the 
well-known  house  of  Copeland-Farley  Company, 
drugs,  wholesale  only  —  naturally  sort  o'  take  an 
interest  in  the  family." 

It  was  still  wholly  possible  for  her  to  walk  away 
without  replying ;  and  yet  his  slangy  speech  amused 

9 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

her,  and  his  manner  was  deferential.  She  remem 
bered  the  Amidons  from  her  childhood  at  Belleville, 
on  the  Ohio,  and  she  even  vaguely  remembered  the 
boy  this  young  man  must  have  been.  Within  three 
yards  of  her  he  paused,  as  though  to  reassure  her 
that  he  was  not  disposed  to  presume  upon  an  ac 
quaintance  that  rested  flimsily  upon  knowledge 
that  might  have  awakened  unwelcome  memories; 
and  seeing  that  she  hesitated,  he  remarked:  - 

"A  good  deal  has  happened  since  you  sat  in  front 
of  me  in  the  public  school  down  there.  I  guess  a 
good  deal  has  happened  to  both  of  us." 

This  was  too  intimate  for  immediate  acceptance; 
but  she  would  at  least  show  him  that  whatever 
changes  might  have  taken  place  in  their  affairs,  she 
was  not  a  snob. 

"You  are  Jerry;  the  other  Amidon  boy  was  Oba- 
diah.  I  remember  him  because  the  name  always 
seemed  so  funny." 

"You're  playing  safe!  Obey  died  when  he  was 
ten  —  poor  little  kid !  Scarlet  fever.  That  was  right 
after  the  flood  you  floated  away  on." 

She  murmured  her  regret  at  the  death  of  his 
brother.  It  was,  however,  still  a  delicate  question 
just  how  much  weight  should  be  given  to  these  slight 
ties  of  their  common  youth. 

The  disagreeable  connotations  of  his  introduc 
tion  —  the  southward-looking  vista  that  led  back 
to  the  poverty  and  squalor  to  which  she  was  born 
—  were  rather  rosily  obscured  by  the  atmosphere 

10 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

of  assured  blitheness  he  exhaled.  He  seemed  to 
imply  that  both  had  put  Belleville  behind  them 
and  that  there  was  nothing  surprising  in  this  meet 
ing  under  happier  conditions.  He  was  a  clean-cut, 
well-knit,  resolute  young  fellow.  His  brownish 
hair  was  combed  back  from  his  forehead  with  an 
onion-skin  smoothness;  indeed,  he  imparted  a  gen 
eral  impression  of  smoothness.  His  gray  eyes  ex 
pressed  a  juvenile  innocence;  his  occasional  smile 
was  a  slow,  reluctant  grin  that  disclosed  white,  even 
teeth.  A  self-confident  young  fellow,  a  trifle  fresh, 
and  yet  with  an  unobtrusive  freshness  that  was  not 
displeasing,"  Nan  thought,  as  she  continued  to  ob 
serve  and  appraise  him. 

"I  broke  away  from  the  home-plate  when  I  was 
sixteen,"  he  went  on,  "about  four  years  after  you 
pulled  out;  and  I've  been  engaged  in  commercial 
pursuits  in  this  very  town  ever  since.  Arrived  in  a 
freight-car,"  he  amplified  cheerfully,  as  though  she 
were  entitled  to  all  the  facts.  "Got  a  job  with  the 
aforesaid  well-known  jobbing  house.  Began  by 
sweeping  out,  and  now  I  swing  a  sample-case  down 
the  lower  Wabash.  Oh,  not  vulgarly  rich!  but  I 
manage  to  get  my  laundry  out  every  Saturday 
night." 

"You  travel  for  the  house,  do  you?"  she  asked 
with  a  frown  of  perplexity. 

"That's  calling  it  by  a  large  name;  but  I  can't 
deny  that  your  words  give  me  pleasure.  They're 
just  trying  me  out;  it's  up  to  me  to  make  good. 

ii 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

I  Ve  seen  you  in  the  office  now  and  then ;  but  you 
never  knew  me." 

"  If  I  ever  saw  you,  I  did  n't  know  you,  of  course," 
she  said  with  unaffected  sincerity;  "if  I  had,  I 
should  have  spoken  to  you." 

"Oh,  I  never  worried  about  that!  But  of  course 
it  would  be  all  right  if  you  did  n't  want  to  remember 
me.  I  was  an  ugly  little  one-gallus  kid  with  a  frowsy 
head  and  freckled  face.  I  should  n't  expect  you  to 
remember  me  for  my  youthful  beauty;  but  you 
saved  me  from  starvation  once ;  I  sat  on  your  fence 
and  watched  you  eat  a  large  red  apple,  and  traded 
you  my  only  agate  —  it  was  an  imitation  —  for  the 
core." 

She  laughed,  declaring  that  she  could  never  have 
been  so  grasping,  and  he  decided  that  she  was  a 
good  fellow.  Her  manner  of  ignoring  the  social 
chasm  that  yawned  between  members  of  the  fash 
ionable  Country  Club  and  the  Little  Ripple  Club 
farther  down  the  river,  to  which  young  men  who 
invaded  the  lower  Wabash  with  sample-cases  were 
acceptable,  was  wholly  in  her  favor.  Her  parents 
had  been  much  poorer  than  his  own :  his  father  had 
been  a  teamster;  hers  had  been  a  common  day 
laborer  and  a  poor  stick  at  that.  And  recurring  to 
the  maternal  line,  her  mother  had  without  shame 
added  to  the  uncertain  family  income  by  taking  in 
washing.  His  mother,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
canned  her  own  fruit  and  been  active  in  the  affairs 
of  the  First  M.E.  Church,  serving  on  committees 

12 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

with  the  wives  of  men  who  owned  stores  and  were 
therefore  of  Belleville's  aristocracy;  she  had  even 
been  invited  to  the  parsonage  to  supper. 

If  Nan  Corrigan's  parents  had  not  perished  in  an 
Ohio  River  flood,  and  if  Timothy  Farley,  serving  on 
a  flood  sufferers'  relief  committee,  had  not  rescued 
her  from  a  shanty  that  was  about  to  topple  over  by 
the  angry  waters,  Nan  Farley  would  not  be  stand 
ing  there  in  expensive  raiment  talking  to  Jerry  Ami- 
don.  These  facts  were  not  to  be  ignored  and  she 
was  conscious  of  no  wish  to  ignore  them. 

"I've  been  fortunate,  of  course,"  she  said,  as 
though  condensing  an  answer  to  many  questions. 

"  I  guess  there's  a  good  deal  in  luck,"  he  replied 
easily.  "If  one  of  our  best  tie-hoppers  had  n't  got 
killed  in  a  trolley  smash-up,  I  might  never  have  got 
a  chance  to  try  the  road.  I  'd  probably  have  been 
doing  Old  Masters  with  the  marking-pot  around 
the  shipping-room  to  the  end  of  time." 

His  way  of  putting  things  amused  her,  and  her 
smile  heightened  his  admiration  of  her  dimples. 

"I  suppose  you're  going  fishing  when  you  learn 
how  to  manage  the  fly?"  she  asked,  willing  to  pro 
long  the  talk  now  that  they  had  disposed  of  the 
past. 

"You  never  spoke  truer  words!  It's  this  way," 
he  continued  confidentially:  "When  I  see  a  fellow 
doing  something  I  don't  know  how  to  do,  my  heart- 
action  is  n't  good  till  I  learn  the  trick.  It  used  to 
make  me  sick  to  have  to  watch  'em  marking  boxes 

13 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

at  the  store,  and  I  began  getting  down  at  six  A.M. 
to  practice,  so  when  a  chance  came  along  I  'd  be 
ready  to  handle  the  brush.  And  camping  once  over 
Sunday  a  few  miles  down  this  romantic  stretch  of 
sandbars,  I  saw  a  chap  hook  a  bass  with  a  hand 
made  fly  instead  of  a  worm,  and  I  Ve  been  waiting 
until  returning  prosperity  gave  me  the  price  of  a 
box  of  those  toys  to  try  it  myself.  And  here  you  Ve 
caught  me  in  the  act.  But  don't  give  me  away  to 
the  sports  up  there."  He  indicated  the  clubhouse 
with  a  jerk  of  the  head.  "  It  might  injure  my  credit 
on  the  street." 

"Oh,  I'll  not  give  you  away!"  she  replied  in  his 
own  key.  "But  did  the  man  you  saw  catch  the  fish 
that  time  ever  enter  more  fully  into  your  life?  I 
should  think  he  ought  to  have  known  how  highly 
you  approved  of  him." 

"Well,  I  got  acquainted  with  him  after  that,  and 
he 's  taken  quite  a  shine  to  me,  if  I  may  say  it  which 
should  n't.  The  name  being  Eaton  —  John  Cecil 
—  lawyer  by  trade." 

Her  face  expressed  surprise;  then  she  laughed 
merrily. 

"He's  never  taken  a  shine  to  me;  I  think  he  dis 
approves  of  me.   If  he  does  n't"  —  she  frowned  - 
"he  ought  to!" 

"Oh,  nothing  like  that!"  he  declared  with  his 
peculiar  slangy  intonation.  "  He  is  n't  half  as  frosty 
as  he  looks;  he's  the  greatest  ever;  says  he  believes 
he  could  have  made  something  out  of  me  if  he'd 

14 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

caught  me  sooner.  He  works  at  it  occasionally,  any 
way;  trying  to  purify  my  grammar  —  a  hard  job; 
says  my  slang  is  picturesque  and  useful  for  com 
mercial  purposes,  but  little  adapted  to  the  politer 
demands  of  the  drawing-room.  You  know  how 
Cecil  talks?  He 's  a  grand  talker  —  sort  o'  guys  you, 
and  you  can't  get  mad." 

"I've  noticed  that,"  said  Nan,  with  a  rueful 
smile.  "You  ought  to  be  proud  that  he  takes  an 
interest  in  you.  I  suppose  it 's  your  sense  of  humor; 
he's  strong  for  that." 

This  compliment,  ventured  cautiously,  clearly 
pleased  Amidon.  He  stooped,  picked  up  a  pebble 
and  sent  it  skimming  over  the  water. 

"He  says  a  sense  of  humor  is  essential  to  one  who 
gropes  for  the  philosophy  of  life  —  his  very  words. 
I  don't  know  what  it  means,  but  he  says  if  I  'm 
good  and  quit  opening  all  my  remarks  with  '  Listen,' 
he'll  elucidate  some  day." 

Her  curiosity  was  aroused.  The  social  conjunc 
tion  of  John  Cecil  Eaton  and  Jeremiah  A.  Amidon 
was  bewildering. 

"He's  not  in  the  habit  of  wasting  time  on  people 
he  does  n't  like  —  me,  for  example,"  she  remarked, 
lifting  her  handkerchief  from  the  bush  and  shaking 
it  out.  "  I  suppose  you  met  him  in  a  business  way?  " 

"Not  much!  Politics!  I  room  in  his  ward,  and  we 
met  in  the  Fourth  Ward  Democratic  Club.  He 
tried  to  smash  the  Machine  in  the  primary  last 
spring,  and  I  helped  clean  him  up  —  some  job,  I 

15 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

can  tell  you !  But  he 's  a  good  loser,  and  he  says  it 's 
his  duty  to  win  me  over  to  the  Cause  of  Righteous 
ness.  Cecil 's  a  thinker,  all  right.  He  says  thought 
is  n't  regarded  as  highly  nowadays  as  it  used  to  be ; 
says  my  feet  are  well  trained  now,  and  I  ought  to 
begin  using  my  head.  He  always  wears  that  solemn 
front,  and  you  never  know  when  to  laugh.  Just 
toys  with  his  funny  whiskers  and  never  blinks. 
Says  he  tries  his  jokes  on  me  before  he  springs  'em 
at  the  University  Club.  I  just  let  him  string  me; 
in  fact,  I  Ve  got  to ;  he  says  I  need  his  chastening 
hand.  Gave  me  a  copy  of  the  Bible,  Christmas,  and 
told  me  to  learn  the  Ten  Commandments;  said 
they  were  going  out  of  fashion  pretty  fast,  and  he 
thought  I  could  build  up  a  reputation  for  being 
eccentric  by  living  up  to  'em.  Says  if  Moses  had 
made  eleven,  he  could  n't  have  improved  on  the 
job  any.  Queer  way  of  talking  religion,  but  Cecil 's 
different,  any  way  you  look  at  him." 

These  revelations  as  to  John  Cecil  Eaton's  ad 
miration  for  the  Ten  Commandments,  coming  from 
Amidon,  were  surprising,  but  not  so  puzzling  as  the 
evident  fact  that  Eaton  found  Copeland-Farley's 
young  commercial  traveler  worth  cultivating. 
Amidon  was  quick  to  see  that  he  rose  in  Nan's  esti 
mation  by  reason  of  Eaton's  friendly  interest. 

"Well,  I  never  get  on  with  him,"  she  confessed, 
willing  to  sacrifice  herself  that  Amidon  might  plume 
himself  the  more  upon  Eaton's  partiality. 

"Lord,  I  don't  understand  him!"  Amidon  pro- 

16 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

tested.  "If  I  was  smart  enough  to  do  that,  I 
would  n't  be  working  for  eighteen  per.  I  guess  he 
just  gets  lonesome  sometimes  and  looks  me  up 
to  have  somebody  to  talk  to  —  not  that  anybody 
would  n't  be  tickled  to  hear  him,  but  he  says  he 
finds  in  me  a  certain  raciness  and  tang  of  the 
Hoosier  soil  —  whatever  that  means.  He  took  me 
over  to  the  Art  Institute  last  Sunday  and  gave  me 
a  lecture  on  the  pictures,  and  me  not  understanding 
any  more  than  if  he  'd  been  talking  Chinese.  Intro 
duced  me  to  a  Frenchman  fresh  from  Paris  and 
told  him  my  ideals  were  distinctly  post-impression 
istic.  Then  we  bumped  into  a  college  professor,  and 
he  made  me  talk  so  the  guy  could  note  the  mellow 
flavor  of  my  idiom.  Can  you  beat  that?  Cecil  says 
the  hostility  of  the  social  classes  to  each  other  is 
preposterous.  Got  me  to  take  him  to  a  dance  the 
freight-handlers  were  throwing.  It  was  funny,  but 
they  all  warmed  to  him  like  flies  to  a  leaky  sugar- 
barrel.  Wore  his  evening  clothes,  white  vest  and 
all,  and  he  was  the  only  guy  there  in  an  ironed 
shirt!  I  thought  they'd  sure  kill  him;  but  not  on 
your  life!" 

The  John  Cecil  Eaton  thus  limned  was  not  the 
austere  person  Nan  knew.  Her  Eaton  was  a  sedate 
gentleman  who  made  cryptic  remarks  to  her  at 
parties  and  was  known  to  be  exceedingly  conserva 
tive  in  social  matters.  Amidon,  she  surmised,  was 
far  too  keen  to  subject  himself  unwillingly  to 
Eaton's  caustic  humor,  nor  was  Eaton  a  man  to 

17 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

trouble  himself  with  any  one  unless  he  received  an 
adequate  return. 

"  I  must  be  going  back,"  she  said,  glancing  at  her 
watch.  Her  casual  manner  of  consulting  the  pretty 
trinket  on  her  wrist  charmed  him.  He  was  pleased 
with  himself  that  he  had  been  able  to  carry  through 
an  interview  with  so  superior  a  person. 

He  had  never  been  more  at  ease  in  his  most  bril 
liant  conversations  with  the  prettiest  stenographer 
in  the  drug  house,  whose  sole  aim  in  life  seemed  to 
be  to  "call  him  down"  for  his  freshness.  Lunch- 
counter  girls,  shop-girls,  attractive  motion-picture 
cashiers,  were  an  alluring  target  for  his  wit,  and  the 
more  cruelly  they  snubbed  him  the  more  intensely 
he  admired  them.  But  the  stimulus  of  these  adven 
tures  was  not  comparable  to  the  exaltation  he  ex 
perienced  from  this  encounter  with  Nan  Farley.  If 
she  had  pretended  not  to  remember  him  he  would 
have  hated  her  cordially;  as  it  was,  he  liked  her  im 
mensely.  Though  she  lacked  the  pert  "come-back " 
of  girls  behind  desks  and  counters,  he  felt,  neverthe 
less,  that  she  would  give  a  good  account  of  herself 
in  like  positions  if  exposed  to  the  bold  raillery  of 
commercial  travelers.  He  was  humble  before  her 
kindness.  She  turned  away,  hesitated  an  instant, 
then  took  a  step  toward  him  and  put  out  her  hand. 
There  was  something  of  appeal  in  the  look  she  gave 
him  as  their  hands  touched  —  the  vaguest  hint  of  an 
appeal.  Her  eyes  narrowed  for  an  instant  with  the 
intentness  of  her  gaze  as  she  searched  his  face  for 

18 


A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  MOODS 

—  sympathy,  understanding,  confidence.  Then  she 
withdrew  her  hand  quickly,  aware  that  his  admira 
tion  was  expressing  itself  with  disconcerting  frank 
ness  in  his  friendly  gray  eyes. 

"It's  been  nice  to  see  you  again,"  she  said 
softly.  "Good  luck!" 

"Good  luck  to  you,  Miss  Farley;  I  hope  to  meet 
you  again  sometime." 

"Thank  you;  I  hope  so  too." 

She  nodded  brightly  and  moved  off  along  the 
path  toward  the  clubhouse.  He  felt  absently  for  his 
book  of  cigarette-papers  as  he  reviewed  what  she 
had  said  and  what  he  had  said. 

He  did  not  resume  his  whipping  of  the  river,  but 
restored  his  rod  to  its  case  and  turned  slowly  down 
stream,  not  neglecting  to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  club 
house  as  he  drifted  by. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  AFFAIRS   OF  MRS.    COPELAND 

IN  a  quiet  corner  of  the  club  veranda  Fanny 
Copeland  and  John  Cecil  Eaton  had  been  conscious 
of  the  noisy  gayety  of  Mrs.  Kinney's  party,  and 
they  observed  Nan  Farley's  hurried  exit  and  dis 
appearance. 

"  Nan  does  n't  seem  to  be  responding  to  encores," 
Eaton  remarked.  "She 's  gone  off  to  sulk  —  bored, 
probably;  prefers  to  be  alone,  poor  kid!  It's  out 
rageous  the  way  those  people  use  her." 

"They  have  to  be  amused,"  replied  Mrs.  Cope- 
land,  "  and  I  Ve  heard  that  Nan  can  be  very  funny." 

"There  are  all  kinds  of  fun,"  Eaton  assented 
dryly.  "She's  been  taking  off  Uncle  Tim  again.  I 
don't  see  that  he's  getting  anything  for  his  money 
—  that  is,  assuming  that  she  gets  his  money." 

"If  she  doesn't,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland  quickly, 
"she  won't  be  the  only  person  that 's  disappointed." 

Eaton  lifted  his  eyes  toward  a  stretch  of  wood 
land  beyond  the  river  and  regarded  it  fixedly.  Then 
his  gaze  reverted  to  her. 

"You  think  Billy  wants  to  get  back  the  money 
he  paid  Farley  for  the  drug  business?"  he  asked,  in 
a  colorless,  indifferent  tone  that  was  habitual. 

John  Cecil  Eaton  was  nearing  the  end  of  his 
20 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.   COPELAND 

thirties  —  tall,  lean,  with  a  closely  trimmed  black 
beard.  He  was  dressed  for  the  links,  and  his  wait 
ing  caddy  was  guarding  his  bag  in  the  distance  and 
incidentally  experimenting  at  clock  golf.  Eaton's 
long  fingers  were  clasped  round  his  head  in  such 
manner  as  to  set  his  cap  awry.  One  was  conscious 
of  the  deliberate  gaze  of  his  eyes;  his  drawling 
voice  and  dry  humor  suggested  a  man  of  leisurely 
habits.  He  specialized  in  patent  law  —  that  is  to 
say,  having  a  small  but  certain  income,  he  was  able 
to  discriminate  in  his  choice  of  cases,  and  he  ac 
cepted  only  those  that  particularly  interested  him. 
He  had  been  educated  as  a  mechanical  engineer, 
and  the  law  was  an  afterthought.  His  years  at  Ex 
eter  and  the  Tech,  prolonged  by  his  law  course  at 
Harvard,  had  quickened  his  speech  and  modified 
its  Hoosier  flavor.  He  passed  for  an  Eastern  man 
with  strangers.  He  was  the  fourth  of  his  name  in 
the  community,  and  it  was  a  name,  distinguished 
in  war  and  peace,  that  was  well  sprinkled  through 
the  pages  of  Indiana  history.  Though  the  Eatons 
had  rendered  public  service  in  conspicuous  in 
stances  they  had  never  been  money-makers,  and 
when  John  heard  of  the  high  prices  attained  by 
Washington  Street  property  in  the  early  years  of 
the  twentieth  century  he  reflected  that  if  his  father 
and  grandfather  had  been  a  little  more  sanguine  as 
to  the  city's  future  he  might  have  been  the  richest 
man  in  town. 

Eaton's  interests  were  not  all  confined  to  his 
21 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

profession.  He  read  prodigiously  in  many  fields; 
he  observed  politics  closely  and  was  president  of  a 
club  that  debated  economic  and  social  questions; 
he  was  the  best  fly-fisherman  in  the  State.  His 
occasional  efforts  to  improve  the  tone  of  local  poli 
tics  greatly  amused  his  friends,  who  could  not  see 
why  a  man  who  might  have  been  pardoned  for 
looking  enviously  upon  a  seat  in  the  United  States 
Senate  should  subject  himself  to  the  indignity  of  a 
defeat  for  the  city  council.  To  the  men  he  lunched 
with  daily  at  the  University  Club  his  interest  in 
municipal  affairs  was  only  another  of  his  eccentric 
ities.  He  had  never  married,  but  was  still  carried 
hopefully  on  the  list  of  eligibles.  By  general  consent 
he  was  the  best  dinner  man  in  town  —  a  guest  who 
could  be  relied  upon  to  keep  the  talk  going  and 
make  a  favorable  impression  on  pilgrims  from 
abroad. 

Mrs.  Copeland's  ironic  smile  at  his  last  remark 
had  lingered.  Their  eyes  met  glancingly;  then  the 
gaze  of  both  fell  upon  the  distant  treetops.  Theirs 
was  an  old  friendship  that  rendered  unnecessary  the 
filling  in  of  gaps.  Eaton  was  thinking  less  concretely 
of  her  reference  to  Billy  Copeland's  designs  upon 
the  Farley  money  than  of  the  abstract  fact  that  a 
divorced  woman  might  sit  upon  a  club  veranda  and 
hear  her  former  spouse's  voice  raised  in  joyous  ex 
clamation  within,  and  even  revert  without  visible 
emotion  to  the  possibility  of  his  remarrying. 

Times  and  standards  had  changed.  This  was  no 

22 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF   MRS.   COPELAND 

longer  the  sober  capital  it  had  been,  where  every 
one  went  to  church,  and  particular  merit  might  be 
acquired  by  attending  prayer-meeting.  It  was  a 
very  different  place  from  what  it  had  been  in  days 
well  within  Eaton's  recollection,  before  the  bob 
tail  mule  cars  yielded  to  the  trolley,  or  the  auto 
mobile  drove  out  the  sober-going  phaetons  and 
station-wagons  that  had  satisfied  the  native  long 
ing  for  grandeur.  The  roster  of  the  Country  Club 
bore  testimony  of  the  passing  of  the  old  order.  The 
membership  committee  no  longer  concerned  itself 
with  the  ancestry  or  reputation  for  sobriety  of 
applicants,  or  their  place  of  worship,  or  whether 
their  grandfathers  had  come  to  town  before  the 
burning  of  the  Morrison  Opera  House,  or  even 
the  later  conflagration  that  consumed  the  Academy 
of  Music.  You  might  speak  of  late  arrivals  like  the 
Kinneys  with  all  the  scorn  you  pleased,  but  they 
had  been  recognized  by  everybody  but  a  few  ultra- 
conservatives  ;  and  if  Bob  Kinney  was  something  of 
a  sport  or  his  wife's  New  York  clothes  were  a  trifle 
daring  for  the  local  taste,  such  criticisms  did  not 
weigh  heavily  as  against  the  handsome  villa  in 
which  these  same  Kinneys  had  established  them 
selves  in  the  new  residential  area  on  the  river  bluff. 
Curiosity  is  a  stern  foe  of  snobbishness;  and  when 
Mrs.  Kinney  seemed  so  "sweet"  and  had  given  a 
thousand  dollars  to  the  new  Girls'  Club,  besides 
endowing  a  children's  room  in  the  Presbyterian 
Hospital,  many  very  proper  and  dignified  matrons 

23 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

felt  fully  justified  in  crossing  the  Rubicon  (other 
wise  White  River)  for  an  inspection  of  Mrs. 
Kinney's  new  house.  Eaton  had  accepted  such 
things  in  a  philosophic  spirit,  just  as  he  accepted 
Kinney's  retainer  to  safeguard  the  patents  on  the 
devices  that  made  Kinney's  cement  the  best  on  the 
market  and  the  only  brand  that  would  take  the 
finish  and  tint  of  tile  or  marble. 

"  It  seems  to  be  understood  that  they're  waiting 
for  Farley  to  die  so  they  can  be  married  comfort 
ably,"  Eaton  remarked.  "But  Farley's  a  tough 
old  hickory  knot.  He's  capable  of  hanging  on  just 
to  spite  them." 

"He  was  always  very  kind  to  me.  I  saw  a  good 
deal  of  him  and  his  wife  after  I  came  here.  He  was 
proud  of  the  business  and  anxious  that  Billy  should 
carry  it  on  and  keep  developing  it." 

"  I  always  liked  the  steamboating  period  of  Far 
ley's  life,"  said  Eaton,  ignoring  this  frank  reference 
to  her  former  husband,  in  which  he  thought  he  de 
tected  a  trace  of  wistfulness;  "and  he's  told  me  a 
good  deal  about  it  at  times.  It  was  much  more 
picturesque  than  his  wholesale-drugging.  He  never 
quite  got  over  his  river  days  —  he 's  always  been 
the  second  mate,  bullying  the  roustabouts." 

"He  never  forgot  how  to  swear,"  Mrs.  Copeland 
laughed.  "He  does  it  adorably." 

"There  was  never  anything  like  him  when  he's 
well  heated,"  Eaton  continued.  "He  never  means 
anything  —  it's  just  his  natural  way  of  talking. 

24 


THE  AFFAIRS   OF   MRS.   COPELAND 

His  customers  rather  liked  it  on  the  whole  —  ex 
pected  him  to  commit  them  to  the  fiery  pit  every 
time  they  came  to  town  and  dropped  in  to  see  him. 
When  he  got  stung  in  a  trade  —  which  was  n't 
often  —  he  'd  go  into  his  room  and  lock  the  door 
and  curse  himself  for  an  hour  or  two  and  then  go 
out  and  raise  somebody's  wages.  A  character  —  a 
real  person,  old  Uncle  Tim!" 

The  thought  of  the  retired  merchant  seemed  to 
give  Eaton  pleasure ;  a  smile  played  furtively  about 
his  lips. 

"Then  it  must  have  been  his  wife  who  used  to 
lure  him  to  church  every  Sunday  morning." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it!  It  was  the  old  man  himself.  He 
had  a  superstitious  feeling  that  business  would  go 
badly  if  he  cut  church.  He  never  swore  on  Sundays, 
but  made  up  for  it  Monday  mornings.  He 's  always 
been  a  generous  backer  of  foreign  missionaries 
on  the  theory  that  by  Christianizing  the  heathen 
we  're  widening  the  market  for  American  commerce. 
We've  had  worse  men  than  Farley.  I  suppose  he 
never  told  a  lie  or  did  an  underhanded  thing  through 
all  the  years  he  was  in  business.  And  all  he  has  to 
leave  behind  him  is  his  half  million  or  more  —  and 
Nan." 

"And  Nan,"  Mrs.  Copeland  repeated  with  a 
shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "I  suppose  Mr.  Farley 
knows  what's  up.  He's  too  shrewd  not  to  know. 
Clever  as  Nan  is,  she  could  hardly  pull  the  wool 
over  his  eyes." 

25 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"She's  much  too  clever  not  to  know  she  can't 
fool  him;  but  he's  immensely  fond  of  her,  just  as 
his  wife  was.  And  we  Ve  got  to  admit  that  Nan  is  a 
very  charming  person  —  a  little  devilish,  but  keen 
and  amusing.  She's  too  good  for  that  crowd  she's 
running  with  —  no  doubt  of  that!  If  Uncle  Tim 
thought  she  meant  to  marry  Billy,  he  would  take 
pains  to  see  that  she  did  n't." 

"You  mean  he  would  n't  leave  her  the  money?" 
she  asked  in  a  lower  tone.  "I  suppose  he'd  have 
to." 

Eaton  shook  his  head. 

"He's  under  no  obligation  to  give  it  all  to  Nan. 
If  he  thought  there  was  any  chance  of  her  marrying 
Billy—" 

"She's  been  led  to  believe  that  it  would  all  be 
hers.  The  Parleys  educated  her  and  brought  her  up 
in  a  way  to  encourage  the  belief.  It  would  be  cruel 
to  disappoint  her;  he  would  n't  have  any  right  to 
cut  her  off,"  Mrs.  Copeland  concluded  with  feeling. 

"  It  might  be  less  cruel  to  cut  her  off  than  to  let 
her  have  it  all  and  go  on  the  way  she 's  started.  She 
came  about  ten  years  too  late  upon  the  scene.  It's 
only  within  a  few  years  that  a  party  like  we  Ve  lis 
tened  to  in  there  would  have  been  possible  in  this 
town.  If  Nan  had  reached  her  twentieth  year  a 
decade  ago,  she'd  have  been  the  demurest  of  little 
girls,  and  there  would  have  been  no  question  of  her 
marrying  a  man  who  had  divorced  his  wife  merely 
to  be  free  to  appropriate  her." 

26 


'A   VERY   CHARMING   PERSON  — A    LITTLE  DEVILISH, 
BUT    KEEN    AND   AMUSING" 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.   COPELAND 

Mrs.  Copeland  opened  and  closed  her  eyes 
quickly  several  times.  No  other  man  of  her  acquaint 
ance  would  have  dared  to  speak  of  her  personal 
affairs  in  this  blunt  fashion.  Eaton  had  referred  to 
the  divorce  that  had  severed  her  ties  with  Cope- 
land  quite  as  though  she  were  not  an  interested 
party  to  that  transaction.  He  now  went  a  step 
further,  and  the  color  deepened  in  her  face  as  he 
said :  — • 

"I  don't  understand  why  you  didn't  resist  his 
suit.  I  Ve  never  said  this  to  you  before,  and  it 's 
too  late  to  be  proffering  advice,  but  you  ought  n't 
to  have  let  it  go  as  you  did.  Billy's  whole  conduct 
was  perfectly  contemptible." 

"There  was  no  sense  in  making  a  fight  if  he 
wanted  to  quit.  The  law  could  n't  widen  the  breach; 
it  was  there  anyhow,  from  the  first  moment  I  knew 
what  was  in  his  mind." 

"He  acted  like  a  scoundrel,"  persisted  Eaton  in 
his  cool,  even  tones;  "it  was  base,  rotten,  damna 
ble!" 

"If  you  mean"  —she  hesitated  and  frowned - 
' '  if  you  mean  that  he  let  the  impression  get  abroad 
that  I  was  at  fault  —  that  it  was  I  who  had  become 
interested  elsewhere  —  it's  only  just  to  say  that  I 
never  thought  Billy  did  that.  I  don't  believe  now 
that  he  did  it." 

He  was  aware  that  he  had  ventured  far  toward 
the  red  lamps  of  danger.  This  matter  of  her  per 
sonal  honor  was  too  delicate  for  veranda  discussion ; 

27 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

in  fact,  it  was  not  a  matter  that  he  had  any  right 
to  refer  to  even  remotely  at  any  time  or  place. 

"Of  course,  unpleasant  things  were  said,"  she 
added.  "I  suppose  they're  always  bound  to  be. 
Manning  was  his  friend,  not  mine." 

Eaton  received  this  impassively,  which  was  his 
way  of  receiving  most  things. 

"By  keeping  out  of  the  way,  that  gentleman 
proved  that  he  could  n't  have  been  any  friend  of 
yours.  If  he'd  been  a  gentleman  or  even  a  man  - 

She  broke  in  upon  him  quietly,  bending  toward 
him  with  tense  eagerness. 

"He  offered  to:  I  have  never  told  that  to  any  one, 
but  I  don't  want  you  to  be  unfair  even  to  him.  My 
mistake  was  that  I  meekly  followed  Billy  when  he 
began  running  with  the  new  crowd.  I  knew  I  was 
boring  him,  and  I  thought  if  I  took  up  with  the 
Kinneys  and  the  people  they  were  training  with, 
he  might  get  tired  of  them  after  a  while  and  we 
could  go  on  as  we  had  begun.  But  I  had  n't  reck 
oned  with  Nan.  I  allowed  myself  to  be  put  in  com 
petition  with  a  girl  of  twenty  —  which  is  a  foolish 
thing  for  a  woman  of  thirty-five  to  do." 

She  carried  lightly  the  thirty-five  years  to  which 
she  confessed,  but  sometimes,  in  unguarded  mo 
ments,  a  startled,  pained  look  stole  into  her  brown 
eyes,  as  though  at  the  remembrance  of  a  blow  that 
might  repeat  itself.  There  was  a  patch  of  white  in 
her  hair  just  at  one  side  of  her  forehead.  Its  effect 
was  to  contribute  to  her  natural  air  of  distinction. 

28 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.   COPELAND 

She  was  of  medium  height  and  her  trim  figure  re 
tained  its  girlish  lines.  Her  face  and  hands  were 
tanned  brown,  and  the  color  was  becoming.  She 
wore  to-day  a  blue  skirt  and  a  plain  blouse,  with  a 
soft  collar  opened  at  the  throat.  She  had  walked 
to  the  clubhouse  from  her  home,  a  mile  distant,  and 
her  meeting  with  Eaton  had  been  purely  incidental. 
After  her  divorce  she  had  established  herself  as  a 
dairy  farmer  on  twenty  acres  of  land  that  she  had 
inherited  from  her  father,  a  banker  in  one  of  the 
smaller  county  seats,  who  had  been  specially  inter 
ested  in  dairying  and  had  encouraged  her  interest 
in  the  diversion  he  made  profitable.  To  please 
him  she  had  taken  a  course  in  dairying  at  the  State 
Agricultural  School  and  knew  the  business  in  all  its 
practical  aspects.  Copeland  had  first  seen  her  at  a 
winter  resort  in  Florida  where  she  had  gone  with 
her  father  in  his  last  illness,  and  their  common  ties 
with  Indiana  had  made  it  easily  possible  for  him 
to  cultivate  her  better  acquaintance  later  at  home. 
Billy  Copeland  was  an  attractive  young  fellow  with 
good  prospects;  his  social  experience  was  much 
ampler  than  hers,  and  the  marriage  seemed  to  her 
friends  an  advantageous  one.  When  after  ten  years 
she  found  herself  free,  she  rose  from  the  ruins  of  her 
domestic  happiness  determined  to  live  her  life  in 
the  way  that  pleased  her  best.  She  shrank  from  ad 
justing  herself  to  a  new  groove  in  town;  the  plight 
of  the  divorced  woman  was  still,  in  this  community, 
not  wholly  comfortable.  There  was  little  consola- 

29 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

tion  in  the  sympathy  of  friends  —  though  she  had 
many;  and  even  the  general  attitude,  that  Cope- 
land's  conduct  was  utterly  indefensible,  did  not 
help  greatly.  She  realized  perfectly  that  in  follow 
ing  Copeland's  lead  unprotestingly  when  he  caught 
step  with  the  quicker  social  pace  set  by  the  Kinneys, 
-  a  name  that  stood  as  a  synonym  for  noiser  func 
tions  and  heavier  libations  than  the  community  had 
tolerated,  —  she  had  estranged  many  who  were 
affronted  by  the  violence  with  which  the  town  was 
becoming  kinneyized. 

Two  years  had  passed  and  her  broken  wings 
again  beat  the  air  with  something  of  their  early 
rhythm.  The  pathos  of  her  isolation  was  more  ap 
parent  to  her  old  friends  in  town  than  to  herself. 
Whether  she  had  dropped  out  of  the  Kinney  crowd, 
or  whether  it  was  more  properly  an  ejectment,  there 
was  all  the  more  reason  why  women  who  had  re 
garded  the  intrusions  of  that  set  with  horror  should 
manifest  their  confidence  in  her.  If  she  had  been 
poor,  a  divorcee  lodged  in  a  boarding-house  and  in 
need  of  practical  aid,  she  might  have  suffered  from 
neglect;  but  having  an  assured  small  income  which 
her  investment  in  the  dairy  farm  in  no  wise  jeop 
ardized,  it  was  rather  the  thing  to  look  in  on  her 
occasionally.  Young  girls  in  particular  thought  her 
handsome  and  interesting-looking,  and  risked  their 
mothers'  displeasure  by  going  to  see  her.  And  there 
were  women  who  sought  her  out  merely  to  em 
phasize  their  disapproval  of  Copeland  and  the 

30 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.   COPELAND 

scandal  of  his  divorce,  which  they  felt  to  be  an  affront 
to  the  community's  dignity  in  a  man  whose  father 
had  been  of  the  old  order  of  decent,  law-abiding, 
home-keeping,  church-going  citizens.  They  ad 
mired  the  courage  and  dignity  with  which  she  met 
misfortune  and  addressed  herself  uncomplainingly 
to  the  business  of  fashioning  a  new  life. 

"I've  been  keeping  you  from  your  game,"  she 
said,  rising  abruptly;  "and  I  must  be  getting  home." 

They  walked  down  the  veranda  toward  the  en 
trance  and  reached  the  door  at  a  moment  when 
Copeland,  who  had  been  keeping  company  with  a 
tall  glass  in  the  rathskeller  below,  waiting  im 
patiently  for  Nan's  return,  lounged  out. 

He  stopped  short  with  a  slightly  challenging  air. 
Eaton  bowed  and  tugged  at  the  visor  of  his  cap. 
Copeland  lifted  his  straw  hat  and  muttered  a  good- 
afternoon  that  was  intended  for  one  or  both  as  they 
chose  to  take  it.  Mrs.  Copeland  glanced  at  him 
without  making  any  sign;  she  did  not  speak  to 
Eaton  again,  but  as  they  parted  near  the  first  tee 
and  she  started  across  the  links  toward  the  high 
way,  she  nodded  quickly  and  smiled  a  forlorn  little 
smile  that  haunted  him  for  some  time  afterward. 

Half  an  hour  later,  standing  erect  after  successfully 
negotiating  a  difficult  putt,  he  said,  under  his  breath:— 

"By  George!  She's  still  in  love  with  him!" 

He  glanced  around  to  make  sure  no  one  had  over 
heard  him,  and  crossed  to  the  next  tee  with  a  look 
of  deep  perplexity  on  his  face. 

31 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Nan,  having  returned  to  the  clubhouse,  sauntered 
down  the  veranda  toward  Copeland,  wearing  a  de 
mure  air  she  had  practiced  for  his  benefit.  Her 
indifference  to  his  annoyance  at  her  long  absence 
added  to  his  vexation. 

"Well,  what  have  you  been  up  to?"  he  demanded 
irritably.  "The  others  skipped  long  ago." 

"Oh,  I  was  tired  and  went  down  to  the  river  to 
rest.  I  'm  going  home  now." 

"You  can't  go  home;  Grace  expects  us  to  stop 
at  her  house;  they'll  all  be  there  in  half  an  hour." 

"Sorry,  but  I  must  skip.  You  run  along  like  a 
good  boy,  and  I'll  hop  on  the  trolley.  I  must  be 
home  by  five,  and  I  '11  just  about  make  it." 

"That's  not  treating  Grace  right,  to  say  nothing 
of  me!"  he  expostulated.  "I'm  getting  sick  of  all 
this  dodging  and  ducking.  I'm  coming  up  to  the 
house  to-morrow  and  have  it  out  with  Farley." 

"You're  a  nice  boy,  Billy,  but  you're  not  going 
to  do  anything  foolish,"  she  replied. 

He  found  the  kindness  of  this  —  even  its  note  of 
fondness  —  unsatisfying.  He  read  into  it  a  skepti 
cism  that  was  not  flattering. 

"We've  been  fooling  long  enough  about  this; 
we've  got  to  announce  our  engagement  and  be 
done  with  it." 

"But,  Billy,  we're  not  engaged!  We're  just  the 
best  of  friends.  Why  should  we  stir  up  a  big  fuss 
by  getting  engaged?" 

"What's  got  into  you,  anyhow!"  he  exclaimed, 
32 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.   COPELAND 

eyeing  her  angrily.  "This  talk  about  not  being 
engaged  does  n't  go !  I'm  getting  tired  of  all  this 
nonsense  —  being  kicked  about  and  held  off  when 
I  Ve  staked  everything  I  Ve  got  on  you." 

"You  mean,"  she  said  steadily,  "that  you  di 
vorced  your  wife,  thinking  I  would  marry  you ;  and 
now  you  're  angry  because  I  'm  not  in  a  hurry  about 
it,  and  don't  want  to  trouble  papa,  who  has  been 
kinder  to  me  than  anybody  else  ever  was  — 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  cry  here!  We've  been 
talked  about  enough;  I  don't  understand  what's 
got  into  you  to-day." 

"I  just  mean  to  be  sensible,  that's  all.  We've 
had  some  mighty  fine  times,  and  you  Ve  been  nice 
to  me;  but  there's  no  hurry  about  getting  mar 
ried—" 

"No  hurry!"  He  stared  at  her,  unable  in  his 
impotent  rage  to  deal  with  the  situation  as  he 
thought  it  deserved.  "Look  here,  Nan,  I  can  stand 
a  lot  of  this  Irish  temperament  of  yours,  but  you're 
playing  it  a  little  too  far." 

"My  Irish  temperament!"  she  repeated  pout- 
ingly.  "Well,  I  guess  the  Irish  is  there  all  right;  I 
don't  know  about  'the  temperamental  part  of  it. 
A  good  many  people  call  it  something  very  dif 
ferent." 

"When  am  I  going  to  see  you  again?"  he  de 
manded  roughly. 

"How  should  I  know!  You  see  me  now  and  you 
don't  like  me.  You  'd  better  go  downtown  and  do 

33 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

some  work,  Billy;  that's  what  I  should  prescribe 
for  you.  And  you've  got  to  cut  out  the  drink;  it's 
getting  too  big  a  hold  on  you.  I  'm  going  to  quit, 
too." 

Standing  near  the  entrance,  they  had  been 
obliged  to  acknowledge  the  greetings  of  a  number  of 
new  arrivals.  It  was  manifestly  no  place  for  a  pro 
longed  serious  discussion  of  their  future.  Mrs. 
Harrington,  whose  husband's  bank,  the  Phoenix 
National,  was  the  soundest  in  the  State,  climbed 
the  steps  from  her  motor  without  seeing  Nan  and 
her  companion.  Until  Farley  retired,  the  Copeland- 
Farley  account  was  carried  by  the  Phcenix;  when 
Billy  Copeland  took  the  helm  he  transferred  it  to 
the  Western,  as  likely  to  grant  a  more  generous 
credit. 

Copeland  flushed  angrily  at  the  slight;  Nan  bit 
her  lip. 

"I'm  off!"  she  said.  "Be  a  good  boy.  I'll  see 
you  again  in  a  day  or  two.  And  for  Heaven's  sake, 
don't  call  me  on  the  telephone;  papa  has  an  exten 
sion  in  his  room,  you  know,  and  hears  everything. 
Tell  Grace  I  'm  sorry  — 

"Let  me  run  you  into  town;  I  can  set  you  down 
somewhere  near  home.  The  trolleys  are  hot  and 
dusty.  Besides,  I  want  to  talk  to  you ;  I  Ve  got  a 
lot  to  say  to  you." 

"Not  to-day,  Billy.   Good-bye!" 

Eaton  found  Nan  waiting  for  him  at  the  fourth 
green. 

34 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.   COPELAND 

"  I  was  praying  for  a  mascot,  and  here  you  are," 
he  remarked  affably.  "  I  can't  fail  to  turn  in  a  good 
card.  Glad  to  see  you've  taken  up  walking;  there's 
nothing  like  it  —  particularly  on  a  humid  after 
noon." 

"Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  hope  to  catch  the 
four- thirty  for  town.  What  are  my  chances?" 

"Excellent,  if  you  don't  waste  more  than  ten 
minutes  on  me.  You  Ve  never  given  me  more  than 
five  up  to  date.  How  is  Mr.  Farley?" 

"He's  been  very  comfortable  for  a  week;  really 
quite  like  himself.  You'd  better  come  and  see 
him." 

"I  meant  to  drop  in  often  all  winter,  but  was 
afraid  of  boring  him." 

"You're  one  of  the  few  that  could  n't  do  that. 
He  likes  to  talk  to  you.  You  don't  bother  him  with 
questions  about  his  health  —  a  sure  way  of  pleas 
ing  him." 

"A  rare  man,  Farley.  Wiser  than  serpents,  and 
stimulating.  I  Ve  learned  a  good  deal  from  him." 

They  reached  his  ball,  that  had  accommodatingly 
effected  a  good  lie,  and  after  viewing  it  with  ap 
proval  he  glanced  at  Nan  and  remarked :  — 

"You'd  better  urge  me  to  come  to  see  you,  too. 
It's  just  occurred  to  me  that  it  might  be  well  for  us 
to  know  each  other  better.  I  may  flatter  myself; 
but—" 

"That's  the  nicest  thing  I've  heard  to-day! 
Please  come  soon." 

35 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Thank  you,  Nan;  I  shall  certainly  do  that." 

"I  met  a  friend  of  yours  a  while  ago,"  she  said, 
"who  pronounced  you  the  greatest  living  man." 

"Ah!  A  gentleman,  of  course;  I  identify  him  at 
once ;  he 's  the  only  person  alive  I  fool  to  that  extent 
—  Jeremiah  A.  Amidon!  I  can't  imagine  why  he 
has  n't  mentioned  his  acquaintance  with  you.  I 
shall  chide  him  for  this." 

He  viewed  her  in  his  quizzical  fashion  through 
the  thick-lensed  spectacles  he  used  for  golfing.  In 
his  ordinary  occupations  these  gave  place  to  eye 
glasses  that  twinkled  with  a  sharp,  hard  brightness, 
as  though  bent  upon  obscuring  the  kindness  that 
lay  behind  them. 

"I  hadn't  seen  him  lately  —  not  since  I  was  a 
child.  We  used  to  be  neighbors  when  we  were  chil 
dren,  and  he  was  a  very,  very  naughty  boy." 

"I  dare  say  he  was,"  Eaton  remarked,  with  his 
air  of  thinking  of  something  else.  "I  suppose  you 
did  n't  find  him  at  all  backward  in  bringing  him 
self  to  your  notice.  Shyness  is  n't  his  dominant 
trait."  " 

"On  the  other  hand,  he  was  rather  diffident  and 
wholly  polite.  I  thought  his  manners  did  you 
credit  —  for  he  said  you  had  been  coaching  him." 

"He  must  be  chidden;  his  use  of  my  name  in  that 
connection  is  utterly  unwarranted.  He  was  one  of 
Mrs.  Kinney's  party,  I  suppose,  —  very  interest 
ing.  I 'm  glad  they  have  taken  him  up! " 

He  was  watching,  with  the  quick  eagerness  that 
36 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  MRS.   COPELAND 

made  him  so  disconcerting  a  companion,  the  pass 
ing  of  a  motor  toward  the  clubhouse,  but  she  under 
stood  perfectly  that  this  utterance  had  been  with 
ironic  intent.  She  laughed  softly. 

"How  funny  you  are!  I  wish  I  weren't  afraid 
of  you." 

"I've  made  a  careful  study  of  the  phobias,  and 
there  is  nothing  in  the  best  authorities  to  justify  a 
fear  of  me.  I  'm  as  tame  as  buttered  toast." 

"Well,  it's  clear  Mr.  Amidon  is  n't  afraid  of 
you!" 

"I'm  relieved  —  infinitely;  I'm  in  mortal  terror 
of  him.  He 's  fixed  standards  of  conduct  for  me  that 
make  me  nervous.  I  'm  afraid  the  young  scoundrel 
will  catch  me  with  my  visor  down  some  day;  then 
smash  goes  his  poor  idol.  I'm  glad  you  spoke  of 
him;  if  he  wasn't  at  your  luncheon  —  a  guess 
you  scorned  to  notice  —  I  suppose  you  met  by 
chance,  the  usual  way." 

"It  was  just  like  that,"  she  laughed.  "Very 
much  so!" 

"H'm!  I  warn  you  against  accepting  the  atten 
tions  of  just  any  young  man  who  strolls  up  the 
river.  A  girl  of  your  years  must  be  discreet.  Your 
early  knowledge  of  Mr.  Amidon  in  the  loved  spots 
your  infancy  knew  won't  save  you.  You'd  better 
refer  all  such  matters  to  me.  Pleasant  as  this  is, 
you're  going  to  miss  your  car  if  you  don't  rustle. 
And  Harrington's  bawling  his  head  off  trying  to 
fore  me  away.  Good-bye!" 

37 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

With  a  neat  stroke  he  landed  his  ball  on  the 
green  and  ran  after  it  to  raise  the  blockade.  When 
Nan  had  halted  the  car  and  climbed  into  the  vesti 
bule,  she  waved  her  hand,  a  salute  which  he  re 
turned  gallantly  with  a  sweep  of  his  cap. 


CHAPTER   III 

MR.    FARLEY   BECOMES    EXPLICIT 

THE  Parleys  had  lived  for  twenty  years  in  an  old- 
fashioned  square  brick  house  surrounded  by  maples. 
The  lower  floor  comprised  a  parlor,  sitting-room, 
and  dining-room,  with  a  library  on  the  side.  The 
library  had  been  Farley's  den,  where  he  smoked  his 
pipe  and  read  his  newspapers.  The  bookcases  that 
lined  the  walls  had  rarely  been  opened;  they  con 
tained  the  "Waverley  Novels,"  Dickens's  "Works" 
complete,  and  a  wide  range  of  miscellaneous  fiction, 
including  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  most  of  Mark 
Twain,  Tourgee's  novel  of  Reconstruction,  "A 
Fool's  Errand,"  Helen  Hunt  Jackson's  "Ramona," 
and  a  number  of  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney's  stories 
for  girls  —  these  latter  reminiscent  of  Nan's  girl 
hood.  The  brown  volumes  of  "Messages  and 
Papers  of  the  Presidents"  were  massed  on  the  bot 
tom  shelves  invincibly  with  half  a  dozen  "Reports" 
of  the  State  Geological  Survey.  The  doors  of  the 
black-walnut  bookcases  were  warped  so  that  the 
contents  were  accessible  only  after  patient  tugging. 
Half  the  books  were  upside-down  —  and  had  been 
since  the  last  house-cleaning.  The  room  presented 
an  inhospitable  front  to  literature,  and  the  other 
arts  fared  no  better  elsewhere  in  the  house.  A  steel 

39 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

engraving  of  the  Parthenon  on  the  dining-room  wall 
confronted  a  crude  print  of  the  JANE  E.  NEWCOMB, 
an  Ohio  River  packet  on  which  Farley  had  been 
second  mate  —  and  an  efficient  one  —  in  '(Scj-'yo. 

Mrs.  Farley  had  established  in  her  household 
the  Southwestern  custom  of  abating  the  heat  by 
keeping  the  outer  shutters  closed  through  the 
middle  of  the  day,  and  the  negro  servants  who  still 
continued  in  charge  had  not  changed  her  system  in 
this  or  in  any  other  important  particular.  Nan  had 
not  lacked  instruction  in  the  domestic  arts;  in  her 
school  vacations  she  had  been  thoroughly  drilled 
by  Mrs.  Farley.  Cleanliness  in  its  traditional  rela 
tionship  to  godliness  had  been  deeply  impressed 
upon  her;  and  she  had  been  taught  to  sew,  knit, 
and  crochet.  She  knew  how  to  cook  after  the  plain 
fashion  to  which  Mrs.  Farley's  tastes  and  experi 
ence  limited  her;  she  had  belonged  to  an  embroid 
ery  class  formed  to  give  occupation  to  one  of  Mrs. 
Farley's  friends  who  had  fallen  upon  evil  times; 
and  Nan  had  been  the  aptest  of  pupils. 

But  Nan  had  never  been  equal  to  the  task  of 
initiating  changes  in  the  Farley  household,  with  its 
regular  order  of  sweepings,  scrubbings,  and  dust 
ings  ;  its  special  days  for  baking,  its  inexorable  rota 
tion  in  meats  and  vegetables  for  the  table.  And  if 
she  had  needed  justification  she  would  have  given 
as  her  excuse  Farley's  long  acceptance  of  his  wife's 
domestic  routine,  and  the  fear  of  displeasing  him 
by  altering  it.  The  colored  cook's  husband  did  the 

40 


MR.   FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

heavier  indoor  cleaning  and  maintained  the  yard; 
and  the  dining-room  and  the  upper  floor  were  cared 
for  by  a  colored  woman.  Hardly  any  one  employed 
a  black  second  girl,  and  Nan  would  have  changed 
the  color  scheme  in  this  particular  and  substituted  a 
neatly  capped  and  aproned  white  girl  of  the  type 
that  opened  the  door  of  her  friends'  houses,  but  the 
present  incumbent  was  a  niece  of  the  cook  and  not 
to  be  eliminated  without  rending  the  entire  do 
mestic  fabric. 

Nan  reached  home  a  few  minutes  after  five. 
She  ran  upstairs  and  found  Farley  in  his  room, 
bending  over  a  table  by  the  window  playing  soli 
taire.  The  trained  nurse  who  had  been  in  the 
house  for  a  year  appeared  at  the  door  and  with 
drew.  Nan  crossed  the  room  and  laid  a  hand  on 
Farley's  shoulder.  He  had  nearly  finished  the 
game,  and  she  remained  quietly  watching  his  tremu 
lous  hands  shifting  the  cards  until  he  leaned  back 
with  a  little  grunt  of  satisfaction  at  the  end.  He 
put  up  his  hand  to  hers  and  drew  her  round  so  that 
he  could  look  at  her. 

"Still  wearing  that  fool  hat!  Take  it  off  and  sit 
down  here  and  talk  to  me." 

His  small,  round  head  was  thickly  covered  with 
stiff  white  hair,  though  his  square-cut  beard  had 
whitened  unevenly  and  still  showed  traces  of  brown. 
While  he  lay  in  the  chair  with  a  pathetic  inertness, 
his  eyes  moved  about  restlessly,  and  his  bleached, 
gnarled  fingers  were  never  wholly  quiet. 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Let's  see  what  you've  been  up  to  to-day?"  he 
asked. 

"Mamie  Pembroke's;  she  was  having  a  luncheon 
for  her  cousin." 

"Just  girls,  I  suppose?"  he  asked  indifferently. 
"You  must  have  had  a  lot  to  eat  to  be  gone  all 
this  time." 

"Well,  we  went  for  a  motor  run  afterward  and 
stopped  at  the  Country  Club  on  the  way  back." 

"More  to  eat,  I  suppose.  My  God!  everybody 
seems  able  to  eat  but  me!  I  told  that  fool  doctor 
awhile  ago  I  was  goin'  to  shoot  him  if  he  did  n't  cut 
off  this  gruel  he 's  feedin'  me.  You  can  lay  in  corn' 
beef  and  cabbage  for  to-morrow;  I  'm  goin'  to  eat  a 
barrel  of  it,  too.  If  I  can  get  hold  .of  some  real  food 
for  a  week,  I  '11  get  out  of  this.  I  understand  they  Ve 
got  Bill  Harrington  playin' golf.  My  God!  he's  two 
years  older  than  I  am  and  sits  on  his  job  every  day. 
If  I  'd  never  knuckled  under  to  the  doctors,  I  'd  be 
a  well  man!"  The  wind  rustling  the  maple  by  the 
nearest  window  attracted  his  attention.  "Open 
that  blind,  and  let  the  air  in.  Things  have  come  to 
a  nice  pass  when  a  man  with  my  constitution  can 
be  shut  up  in  a  dark  room  without  air  enough  to 
keep  him  alive." 

It  was  necessary  to  lift  the  wire  screen  before  the 
shutters  could  be  opened,  and  he  watched  her  in 
tently  as  she  obeyed  him  quickly  and  quietly. 

"Been  to  luncheon,  have  you?"  he  remarked  as 
she  sat  down.  "Well,  eatin'  your  meals  outside 

42 


MR.   FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

does  n't  save  me  any  money.  Those  damned  nig 
gers  cook  just  as  much  as  if  they  had  a  regiment  in 
the  house.  What  did  they  give  you  to  eat  at  the 
Pembrokes'  --the  usual  bird-food  rubbish?" 

Before  his  illness  he  had  scrupulously  reserved  his 
profanity  for  business  uses;  and  it  was  only  when 
his  pain  grew  intolerable  or  the  slow  action  of  his 
doctor's  remedies  roused  him  to  fury  that  he  had 
recourse  to  strong  language.  He  allowed  her  to 
change  the  position  of  his  footstool,  which  had 
slipped  away  from  him,  and  grunted  his  apprecia 
tion  as  he  stretched  his  long,  bony  figure  more  com 
fortably. 

"Well,  go  on  and  tell  me  what  you  had  to  eat." 

It  seemed  best  to  meet  this  demand  in  a  spirit  of 
lightness.  Having  lied  once,  it  might  be  well  to 
vary  her  recital  by  resorting  to  the  truth,  and  she 
counted  off  on  her  fingers,  with  the  mockery  that 
he  had  always  seemed  to  like,  the  items  of  food  that 
had  really  constituted  Mrs.  Kinney's  luncheon. 

"Grape-fruit,  broiled  chicken,  asparagus,  pota 
toes  baked  in  their  jackets  and  sprinkled  with  red 
pepper,  the  way  you  like  them ;  romaine  salad,  ice 
cream  and  cake  —  just  plain  sponge  cake  —  coffee. 
Nothing  so  very  sumptuous  about  that,  papa." 

It  had  always  been  "papa"  and  "mamma"  since 
her  adoption.  When  she  came  home  from  a  board 
ing-school  near  Philadelphia  where  she  had  spent 
two  years,  her  attempts  to  change  the  provincial 
"poppa  "and  "momma"  to  the  French  pronuncia- 

43 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

tion  had  been  promptly  thwarted.  Farley  hated 
anything  that  seemed  "  high-falutin' " ;  and  having 
grown  used  to  being  called  "poppa,"  his  heart  was 
as  flint  against  the  impious  substitution. 

"Of  course  there  were  no  cocktails  or  champagne. 
Not  at  the  Pembrokes' !  If  all  the  women  around 
here  were  like  Mrs.  Pembroke,  we  would  n't  have 
nice  little  girls  like  you  swillin'  liquor;  nor  these  sap- 
headed  boys  that  trot  with  you  girls  stewin'  their 
worthless  little  brains  in  gin.  What  do  you  think 
these  cigarette-smokin'  swine  are  goin'  to  do!  Do 
you  hear  of  'emdoin' any  work?  Is  there  one  of  'em 
that's  worth  a  dollar  a  week?  My  God!  between 
you  girls  runnin'  around  half-naked  and  these 
worthless  young  cubs  plantin'  their  weak,  wobbly 
little  chins  against  cocktails  all  night,  things  have 
come  to  a  nice  pass.  Well,  why  don't  you  go  on  and 
tell  me  who  was  at  your  party?  Here  I  am,  lyin' 
here  waitin'  for  the  pallbearers  to  carry  me  out, 
and  never  hearin'  a  thing,  and  you  sit  there  deaf  and 
dumb!  Who  was  at  that  party?" 

"Well,  papa,  there  were  just  seven  girls,  count 
ing  me:  Mary  Waterman,  Minnie  Briskett,  Marian 
Doane,  and  Libby  Davis,  and  Mamie  and  her 
guest  —  a  cousin  from  Louisville.  Of  course,  there 
was  nothing  to  drink  but  claret  cup,  with  sprigs  of 
mint  in  the  glasses." 

"So  the  Pembrokes  are  comin'  to  it,  are  they? 
They've  got  to  have  something  that  looks  like 
liquor  —  well,  they'll  be  passin'  the  cocktails  be- 

44 


'OH,  I    HAD   ONE   GLASS;   NOBODY  HAD    MORE,    I    THINK;    THERE  WAS  SOME 
KIND   OF    MINERAL   WATER    BESIDES.     IT   WAS   ALL   VERY    SIMPLE" 


MR.   FARLEY   BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

fore  long.  Claret  cup  dressed  up  like  juleps;  and 
how  much  did  you  get  of  it?' 

"Oh,  I  had  one  glass;  nobody  had  more,  I  think; 
there  was  some  kind  of  mineral  water  besides.  It 
was  all  very  simple." 

"Just  a  simple  little  luncheon,  was  it?  Well,  I 
suppose  it's  not  too  simple  to  get  into  the  news 
papers.  Nobody  can  put  an  extra  plate  on  the 
table  now  without  the  papers  have  to  print  it." 

He  had  never  quizzed  her  like  this,  and  his  refer 
ence  to  the  newspaper  alarmed  her.  His  usual  cus 
tom  was  to  ask  her  what  she  had  been  doing  and 
whom  she  had  seen  and  then  change  the  subject  in 
the  midst  of  her  answer.  If  he  had  laid  a  trap  for 
her  she  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat ;  and  while  she 
had  lied  to  him  before,  she  had  managed  it  more 
discreetly.  She  had  escaped  detection  so  long  that 
she  believed  herself  immune  from  discovery.  k 

He  began  tugging  at  a  newspaper  that  had  been 
hidden  under  his  wrapper,  and  her  heart  throbbed 
violently  as  he  opened  it  and  thrust  it  toward  her. 
It  was  the  afternoon  paper,  folded  back  to  the  per 
sonal  and  society  items. 

"Just  read  that  aloud  to  me,  will  you?  I  may 
have  been  mistaken.  Maybe  I  did  n't  get  it  straight. 
Go  ahead,  now,  and  read  it  —  read  it  slow." 

She  knew  without  looking  what  it  was;  the  read 
ing  was  exacted  merely  to  add  to  her  discomfiture. 
The  newspaper  was  delivered  punctually  at  four 
o'clock  every  afternoon,  so  that  before  she  left  the 

45 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Country  Club  he  had  known  just  where  she  had 
been  and  the  names  of  her  companions.  She  read 
in  a  low,  monotonous  tone :  — 

"Mrs.  Robert  Smiley  Kinney  entertained  at 
luncheon  at  the  Country  Club  to-day  for  Mrs. 
Ridgeley  P.  Farwell,  of  Pittsburg,  who  is  her  house 
guest.  The  decorations  were  in  pink.  Those  who 
enjoyed  Mrs.  Kinney's  hospitality  were  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frederic  Towlesley,  Miss  Nancy  Farley,  Miss 
Edith  Saxby,  Mr.  George  K.  Pickard,  and  Mr. 
William  B.  Copeland.'" 

She  refolded  the  paper  and  placed  it  on  the  table 
beside  him.  Instead  of  the  violent  lashing  for  which 
she  had  steeled  herself,  he  spoke  her  name  very 
kindly  and  gently,  with  even  a  lingering  caress. 

" I  lied  to  you  papa,"  she  faltered;  "  but  I  didn't 
mean  to  see  him  again.  I  — 

"Let's  be  square  about  this,"  he  said,  bending 
forward  and  clasping  his  fingers  over  his  knees. 
"You  promised  me  a  year  ago  that  you'd  not 
meet  or  see  Copeland ;  I  did  n't  ask  you  to  drop 
Mrs.  Kinney,  for  I  don't  think  she's  a  particularly 
bad  woman;  she's  only  a  fool,  and  we've  got  to  be 
charitable  in  dealin'  with  fools.  You  can't  ever  tell 
when  you're  not  one  yourself;  that  means  me  as 
well  as  you,  Nan.  Now,  about  that  worthless 
whelp,  Copeland !  I  want  the  whole  truth  —  no 
more  little  lies  or  big  ones.  You  know  that  piece  of 
carrion  would  n't  dare  come  to  this  house,  and  yet 
you  sneak  away  and  meet  him  and  leave  me  to  find 

46 


MR.   FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

it  out  by  accident!  Now,  I  want  the  God's  truth; 
just  what  does  all  this  mean?" 

His  quiet  tone  was  weighted  with  the  dignity,  the 
simple  righteousness,  that  lay  in  him.  She  could 
have  met  more  courageously  a  violent  tirade  than 
his  subdued  demand.  She  was  conscious  that  he 
had  controlled  himself  with  difficulty;  throughout 
the  interview  his  wrath  had  flashed  like  heat- 
lightning  on  far  horizons,  but  he  had  kept  himself 
well  in  hand.  He  was  outraged,  but  he  was  hurt, 
troubled,  perplexed  by  her  conduct.  The  adoption 
of  Nan  had  marked  a  high  altitude  in  the  married 
life  of  the  Parleys,  and  they  had  lavished  upon  her 
the  pent  love  of  their  childlessness.  The  very  man 
ner  in  which  she  had  been  flung  upon  their  protec 
tion  made  her  advent  in  their  household  something 
of  an  adventure,  broadening  their  narrowing  vistas 
and  bringing  a  welcome  cheer  to  their  monotonous 
existence.  They  had  felt  it  to  be  a  duty,  but  one  that 
would  repay  them  a  thousand-fold  in  happiness. 

Farley  patiently  awaited  her  explanation  —  an 
explanation  she  dared  not  make.  She  must  satisfy 
him,  if  at  all,  by  evasions  and  further  lies. 

"Mrs.  Kinney  made  a  point  of  my  coming;  she 
was  always  very  nice  to  me,  and  I  have  n't  been 
seeing  her,  —  honestly  I  have  n't,  —  and  I  was 
afraid  she'd  be  offended  if  I  refused  to  go.  And  I 
did  n't  know  Mr.  Copeland  would  be  there.  The 
luncheon  was  in  the  big  dining-room,  where  every 
body  could  see  us.  I  did  n't  see  any  more  of  him 

47 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

than  of  anybody  else.  In  fact,  I  got  tired  and  ran 
away  —  down  to  the  river  and  was  there  by  myself 
for  an  hour  before  I  came  home  on  the  trolley. 
When  I  got  back  to  the  clubhouse,  they  had  all 
gone  motoring  and  I  did  n't  see  them  again." 

"Left  you  there,  did  they?  Well,  Copeland 
waited  for  you,  did  n't  he?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted  quickly.  "But  I  saw  him 
only  a  minute  on  the  veranda  and  told  him  I  was 
coming  home.  He  understands  perfectly  that  you 
don't  want  me  to  see  him." 

"H'm!  I  should  hope  he  did!  All  that  crowd 
understand  it,  don't  they?  They've  been  puttin' 
you  in  his  way,  have  n't  they,  —  tryin'  to  fix  up 
something  between  you  and  that  loafer !  Look  here, 
Nan,  I'm  not  dead  yet!  I'm  goin'  to  live  a  long 
time,  and  if  these  fool  doctors  have  been  tellin'  you 
I'm  done  for,  they've  lied.  And  if  Copeland  thinks 
my  money 's  goin'  to  drop  into  his  lap,  he 's  waitin' 
under  the  wrong  tree.  Never  a  cent!  What  you 
got  to  say  to  that?" 

"I  don't  think  he  ever  thought  of  it;  it's  only 
because  you  don't  like  him  that  you  imagine  he 
wants  to  marry  me.  I  tell  you  now  that  I  have 
never  had  any  idea  of  marrying  him.  And  as  for 
your  money  —  it  is  n't  my  fault  that  you  brought 
me  here!  You  don't  have  to  give  me  a  cent;  I  don't 
want  it;  I  won't  take  it!  I  was  only  a  poor,  ignorant 
little  nobody,  anyhow,  and  you've  been  disap 
pointed  in  me  from  the  start.  I've  never  pleased 

48 


MR.   FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

you,  no  matter  how  hard  I  Ve  tried.  But  I  Ve  done 
the  best  I  could,  and  I'm  sorry  if  I've  hurt  you. 
I  never  told  you  an  untruth  before,"  she  ran  on 
glibly;  "and  I  would  n't  to-day  if  I  had  n't  guessed 
that  you  knew  where  I  'd  been  and  were  trying  to 
trick  me  into  lying.  You  don't  love  me  any  more, 
papa;  I  know  that;  and  I  'm  going  away  - 

Her  histrionic  talents,  employed  so  successfully 
in  imitating  him  in  his  fury,  for  the  pleasure  of  Mrs. 
Kinney's  guests,  were  diverted  now  to  self-martyriza- 
tion  to  the  accompaniment  of  tears.  She  had  been 
closer  to  him  than  to  his  wife:  what  Mrs.  Farley 
denied  in  the  way  of  indulgences  he  had  usually 
yielded.  He  had  liked  her  liveliness,  her  keen  wit, 
the  amusing  cajoleries  with  which  she  played  upon 
him.  The  remote  Irish  in  his  blood  had  been  re 
sponsive  to  the  fresher  strain  in  her. 

"For  God's  sake,  stop  bawlin'!"  he  growled. 
"So  you  admit  you  lied,  do  you?  Thought  I  had 
laid  a  trap  for  you,  eh?" 

It  was  difficult  for  him  to  realize  that  she  was 
twenty-two  and  quite  old  enough  to  be  held  ac 
countable  for  her  sins.  Her  appeal  to  tears  had 
always  found  him  weak,  but  her  declaration  that 
she  had  suspected  a  trap  when  be  began  to  quiz  her 
was  a  trifle  too  daring  to  pass  unchallenged.  He 
repeated  his  demand  that  she  sit  up  and  stop 
crying. 

"We  may  as  well  go  through  with  this,  Nan.  I 
want  to  know  what  kind  of  an  arrangement  you 

49 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

have  with  Copeland.  Are  you  in  love  with  that 
fellow?" 

"No!" 

"Have  you  promised  to  marry  him?" 

"No!" 

"Then  why  are  you  goin'  places  where  you  ex 
pect  to  see  him?" 

"I've  explained  that,  papa,"  she  replied  with 
more  assurance,  finding  that  he  did  not  debate  her 
answers.  "I  didn't  like  to  refuse  Mrs.  Kinney 
when  I  'd  been  refusing  so  many  of  her  invitations. 
She  asked  me  a  while  ago  to  come  to  her  house  to 
spend  a  week;  and  a  little  before  that  she  wanted 
me  to  go  on  a  trip  with  them,  but  you  were  sick  and 
I  knew  you  did  n't  like  her,  anyhow,  so  I  refused. 
You've  got  the  wrong  idea  about  her,  papa,"  she 
continued  ingratiatingly.  "She's  really  very  nice. 
The  fact  that  she  has  n't  been  here  long  is  against 
her  with  some  of  the  older  women,  but  that's  just 
snobbishness.  I  always  thought  you  hated  the 
snobbishness  of  some  of  these  people  who  have  lived 
here  always  and  are  snippy  to  anybody  else." 

He  was  conscious  that  she  was  eluding  him,  and 
he  gripped  his  hands  with  a  sudden  resolution  not 
to  be  thwarted. 

"I  don't  care  a  damn  about  the  Kinneys;  I'm 
talkin'  about  you  and  Copeland,"  he  rasped  im 
patiently. 

"Very  well,  papa;  I've  told  you  all  there  is  to 
know  about  that  — " 

50 


MR.   FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

"I  don't  care  what  you  say  'about  that,'"  he 
mocked;  "that  worthless  scoundrel  seems  to  have 
an  evil  fascination  for  you.  I  don't  understand  it;  a 
decent  young  girl  like  you  and  a  whiskey-soaked, 
loafin',  gamblin'  degenerate,  who  shook  his  wife  — 
a  fine  woman  —  to  be  free  to  trail  after  you !  That 
slimy  wharf-rat  has  the  fool  idea  that  I  took  ad 
vantage  of  him  when  I  sold  him  my  interest  in 
the  store  —  and  just  to  show  you  what  a  fool  he 
is  I'll  tell  you  that  I  sold  him  my  interest  at  a 
tenth  less  than  I  could  have  got  from  three  other 
people  —  did  it,  so  help  me  God,  out  of  sheer 
good  feelin',  because  he  's  the  son  of  a  father 
who  'd  given  me  a  hand  up,  and  I  thought  because 
he  was  a  fool  I  would  n't  be  just  fair  with  him  — 
I'd  be  generous!  I  did  that  for  Sam  Copeland's 
sake. 

"That  was  four  years  ago,  and  I  hadn't  much 
idea  then  that  he'd  make  good.  He's  already 
cashed  in  everything  Sam  left  him  but  the  store. 
And  I  Ve  still  got  his  notes  for  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars  —  twenty-five  thousand,  mind  you!  —  that 
he'd  like  damned  well  to  cancel  by  marryin'  you. 
A  man  nearly  forty  years  old,  who  gambles  and 
soaks  himself  in  cocktails  and  runs  after  a  feather- 
head  like  you  while  the  business  his  father  and  I 
made  the  best  in  the  State  goes  plumb  to  hell! 
Now,  you  listen  to  what  I  'm  say  in' :  if  you  want  to 
marry  him,  you  do  it,  —  you  go  ahead  and  do  it 
now,  for  if  you  wait  for  me  to  die,  you'll  find  he 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

won't  be  so  anxious;  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  any 
thing  to  marry  you  for!" 

His  voice  that  had  been  firm  and  strong  at  the 
beginning  of  this  long  speech  sank  to  a  hoarse 
whisper,  but  he  cleared  his  throat  and  uttered  his 
last  words  with  sharp  distinctness. 

"I  never  meant  to;  I  never  had  any  idea  of 
marrying  him,"  she  said.  "And  I've  never  thought 
of  the  money.  You  can  do  what  you  like  with  it." 

"Well,  a  man  can't  take  his  money  with  him  to 
the  graveyard,  but  he  can  tie  a  pretty  long  string 
to  it;  and  it's  my  duty  to  protect  you  as  long  as  I 
can.  I  'd  hoped  you  'd  be  married  and  settled  before 
I  went.  Your  mamma  and  I  used  to  talk  of  that; 
you'd  got  a  pretty  tight  grip  on  us;  it  couldn't 
have  been  stronger  if  you'd  been  our  own;  and  I 
don't  want  anything  to  spoil  this,  Nan.  I  want  you 
to  be  a  good  woman  —  not  one  of  these  high-flyin', 
drinkin'  kind,  that  heads  for  the  divorce  court,  but 
decent  and  steady.  Now,  I  guess  that's  about  all." 

She  stood  beside  him  for  a  moment,  smoothing 
his  hair.  Then  she  knelt,  as  though  from  an  acces 
sion  of  feeling,  and  took  his  hands. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  papa!  I  never  mean  to  hurt  you; 
but  I  know  I  do;  I  know  I  must  have  troubled 
mamma,  too,  a  very  great  deal.  And  you've  both 
been  so  good  to  me !  And  I  want  to  show  you  I  ap 
preciate  it.  And  please  don't  talk  of  the  money 
any  more  or  of  my  marrying  anybody.  I  don't 
want  the  money;  I  'm  not  going  to  marry:  I  want 

52 


MR.   FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

us  to  live  on  just  as  we  have  been.  You've  been 
cooped  up  too  long,  but  you  're  so  much  better  now 
you'll  soon  be  able  to  travel." 

"No;  there's  no  more  travel  for  me;  I'll  be  glad 
to  hang  on  as  I  am.  There's  nothing  in  this  change 
idea.  About  a  year  more 's  all  I  count  on,  and  then 
you  can  throw  me  on  the  scrap-heap." 

She  protested  that  there  were  many  more  comfort 
able  years  ahead  of  him ;  the  doctors  had  said  so.  At 
the  mention  of  doctors  his  anger  flared  again,  but 
for  an  instant  only.  It  was  a  question  whether  he 
had  been  mollified  by  her  assurances  or  whether  the 
peace  that  now  reigned  was  attributable  to  his  sat 
isfaction  with  the  plans  he  had  devised  to  protect 
her  from  fortune-hunters. 

She  hated  scenes  and  trouble  of  any  kind,  and 
peace  or  even  a  truce  was  worth  having  at  any 
price.  She  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  the  bright, 
smooth  surfaces  of  life  as  to  be  impatient  of  the 
rough,  unburnished  edges.  It  was  not  wholly  Nan's 
fault  that  she  had  reached  womanhood  selfish  and 
willful.  In  their  ignorance  and  anxiety  to  do  as 
well  by  her  as  their  neighbors  did  by  their  daughters, 
there  had  been  no  bounds  to  the  Parleys'  indul 
gence. 

"I'm  going  to  have  dinner  up  here  with  you," 
she  said  cheerfully,  after  an  interval.  "  I  'm  tired  of 
eating  alone  downstairs  with  Miss  Rankin;  her 
white  cap  gets  on  my  nerves." 

She  satisfied  herself  that  this  plan  pleased  him, 

53 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

and  ran  downstairs  whistling  —  then  was  up  again 
in  her  room,  where  he  heard  her  quick  step,  the 
opening  and  closing  of  drawers. 

She  faced  him  across  the  small  table  in  the  plain 
est  of  white  frocks,  with  her  hair  arranged  in  a 
simple  fashion  he  had  once  commended.  She  told 
stories  —  anecdotes  she  had  gathered  while  dress 
ing,  from  the  back  pages  of  "Life."  He  was  him 
self  a  capital  story-teller,  though  at  the  age  when  a 
man  repeats,  and  she  listened  to  tales  of  his  steam- 
boating  days  that  she  had  heard  for  years  and 
could  have  told  better  herself. 

Soon  a  thunder-shower  cooled  the  air,  and  made 
necessary  the  closing  of  windows,  with  a  resulting 
domestic  intimacy.  The  atmosphere  was  redolent 
of  forgiveness  on  his  part,  of  a  wish  to  please  on  hers. 

At  nine  o'clock,  when  she  had  finished  reading 
some  chapters  from  "Life  on  the  Mississippi,"  — a 
book  that  he  kept  in  his  room,  —  and  Miss  Rankin 
appeared  to  put  him  to  bed,  he  begged  half  an 
hour  more.  He  had  n't  felt  so  well  for  a  year,  he 
declared. 

"Look  here,  Nan,"  he  remarked,  when  the  nurse 
had  retired  after  a  grudging  acquiescence,  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  feel  I  'm  hard  on  you.  I  guess  I  talk 
pretty  rough  sometimes,  but  I  don't  mean  to.  But 
I  worry  about  you  —  what 's  goin'  to  happen  to  you 
after  I  'm  gone.  I  wish  I  'd  gone  first,  so  mamma 
could  have  looked  after  you.  You  know  we  set  a 
lot  by  you.  If  I  'm  hard  on  you,  I  don't  mean  — " 

54 


MR.   FARLEY  BECOMES  EXPLICIT 

She  flung  herself  down  beside  him  and  clasped 
his  face  in  her  hands. 

"You  dear  old  fraud!  —  there  can't  be  any 
trouble  between  you  and  me,  and  as  for  your  leav 
ing  me  —  why,  that's  a  long,  long  time  ahead. 
And  you  can't  tell !  I  might  go  first  —  I  have  all 
kinds  of  queer  symptoms  —  honestly,  I  do !  And 
the  doctor  made  me  stop  dancing  last  winter  be 
cause  my  heart  was  going  jigglety.  Please  let's  be 
good  friends  and  cheerful  as  we  always  have  been, 
and  I  '11  never,  never  tell  you  any  fibs  any  more!" 

She  saw  that  her  nearness,  the  touch  of  her  hands, 
her  supple  young  body  pressed  against  his  worn 
knees,  were  freeing  the  remotest  springs  of  affection 
in  his  tired  heart. 

Nan  wanted  to  be  good -- "good"  in  the  sense 
of  the  word  that  had  expressed  the  simple  piety  of 
her  foster-mother.  She  had  the  conscience  of  her 
temperament  and  from  childhood  had  often  been 
miserable  over  the  smallest  infractions  of  discipline. 
Her  last  words  with  Copeland  on  the  club  veranda 
had  not  left  her  happy.  It  had  been  in  her  mind  for 
some  time  that  she  must  break  with  Billy.  She  had 
never  been  able  to  convince  herself  that  she  loved 
him.  She  had  liked  his  admiration,  and  had  over 
valued  it  as  coming  from  a  man  much  older  than 
herself;  one  who,  moreover,  stood  to  her  as  a  protag 
onist  of  the  gay  world.  No  one  but  Billy  Copeland 
gave  suppers  for  visiting  actors  and  actresses  or 
chartered  a  fleet  of  canoes  for  a  thousand-dollar 

55 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE  PUDDING 

picnic  up  the  river.  It  was  because  he  was  different 
and  amusing  and  made  love  to  her  with  an  ardor 
her  nature  craved  that  she  had  so  readily  lent  her 
self  to  the  efforts  of  the  Kinneys  to  throw  them 
together. 

Being  loved  by  Copeland,  a  divorced  man  rated 
"fast,"  had  all  the  more  piquancy  forXan  as  afford 
ing  a  relief  from  the  life  of  the  staid,  colorless  house 
hold  in  which  she  had  been  reared.  There  were 
those  who,  without  being  snobs,  looked  down  just 
a  little  upon  a  girl  who  was  merely  an  adopted  child 
to  whom  her  foster-parents  gave  only  a  shadowy 
background.  The  Parleys  were  substantial  and  re 
spectable,  but  they  were  not  an  "old  family."  She 
was  conscious  of  this,  and  the  knowledge  had  made 
her  the  least  bit  rebellious  and  the  more  ready  to 
surrender  to  the  blandishments  of  the  Kinneys,  who 
were  even  more  under  the  ban. 

As  she  undressed  and  crept  wearily  into  bed,  she 
pondered  these  things,  and  the  thought  of  them 
did  not  increase  her  happiness. 


CHAPTER   IV 
NAN  AND  BILLY'S  WIFE 

FARLEY  improved  as  the  summer  gained  head 
way.  He  became  astonishingly  better,  and  his  doc 
tor  prescribed  an  automobile  in  the  hope  that  a 
daily  airing  would  exercise  a  beneficent  effect  upon 
his  temper.  Farley  detested  automobiles  and  had 
told  Nan  frequently  that  they  were  used  only  by 
fools  and  bankrupts.  A  neighbor  who  failed  in 
business  that  spring  had  been  one  of  the  first  men 
in  town  to  fall  a  victim  to  the  motor  craze,  and 
Farley  had  noted  with  grim  delight  that  three 
automobiles  were  named  among  the  bankrupt's 
assets. 

When  the  idea  of  investing  in  a  machine  took 
hold  of  him,  he  went  into  the  subject  with  his 
characteristic  thoroughness.  He  had  Nan  buy  all 
the  magazines  and  cut  from  them  the  automobile 
advertisements  and  he  sent  for  his  friends  to  pump 
them  as  to  their  knowledge  of  various  cars.  Then 
he  commissioned  a  mechanical  engineer  to  buy  him 
a  machine  that  could  climb  any  hill  in  the  State, 
and  that  was  free  of  the  frailities  and  imperfections 
of  which  his  friends  complained. 

Farley  manifested  a  childlike  joy  in  his  new 
plaything ;  he  declared  that  he  would  have  a  negro 

57 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

chauffeur.  It  would  be  like  old  steamboat  times,  he 
said,  to  go  "sailin'  around  with  a  nigger  to  cuss." 

Nan  or  the  nurse  went  out  with  him  daily  — 
preferably  Nan,  who  was  immensely  relieved  to 
find  that  they  were  now  on  better  terms  than  for 
several  years.  Life  had  n't  been  a  gay  promenade 
since  she  ceased  to  share  the  festivities  of  the  Kin- 
neys  and  their  friends.  Copeland  she  had  dismissed 
finally,  and  the  rest  of  them  wearied  of  calling  her 
on  the  telephone  only  to  be  told  that  it  was  impos 
sible  for  her  to  make  engagements.  It  may  have 
been  [that  Farley  realized  that  she  was  trying  to 
meet  his  wishes;  at  any  rate,  she  had  no  cause  to 
complain  of  his  kindness. 

"This  would  have  tickled  mamma,"  he  would 
say,  as  they  rolled  through  the  country  in  the  ma 
chine.  "She  was  always  afraid  of  horses;  these 
things  don't  seem  half  as  risky  when  you  get  used 
to  'em.  If  I  keep  on  feelin'  better,  we'll  take  some 
long  trips  this  fall.  There's  a  lot  o'  places  I'd  like 
to  see  again.  I  'd  like  to  go  down  and  take  another 
look  at  the  Ohio." 

He  spoke  much  of  his  wife,  and  at  least  once 
every  week  drove  to  the  cemetery,  and  watched 
Nan  place  flowers  on  her  foster-mother's  grave. 

After  one  of  these  visits  he  ordered  the  chauffeur 
to  drive  north.  He  had  read  in  the  papers  of  the 
sale  of  a  farm  at  what  he  said  was  a  record  price  for 
land  in  that  neighborhood,  and  he  wanted  to  take  a 
look  at  the  property.  After  they  had  inspected  the 

58 


NAN  AND  BILLY'S  WIFE 

farm  and  were  running  toward  home,  Nan  sug 
gested  that  they  stop  at  the  Country  Club  for  a 
cool  drink. 

"Let's  drive  to  Mrs.  Copeland's  place,"  he  re 
marked  casually.  "  I  've  always  meant  to  look  at  her 
farm." 

He  watched  her  sharply,  as  though  expecting  her 
to  object.  Possibly  he  had  some  purpose  in  this;  or 
the  suggestion  might  be  due  to  malevolence;  but 
she  dismissed  any  such  idea.  He  was  always  curi 
ous  about  people,  and  there  was,  to  be  sure,  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  call  on  Mrs.  Copeland. 

"Certainly;  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go,  papa," 
she  answered. 

"Nan,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  her  wrist, 
"there was  never  any  trouble  between  you  and  that 
woman  about  Copeland,  was  there?  If  it's  goin'  to 
make  you  uncomfortable  to  stop  at  her  house,  why, 
we  won't  do  it." 

"Of  course  not,  papa.  I  hope  she  understood 
that  I  could  n't  help  the  gossip.  It  was  n't  my 
fault." 

"Well,  it  was  nasty,  anyhow,"  he  remarked. 
"And  as  you've  got  rid  of  Copeland,  it  would  n't 
be  a  bad  idea  to  let  her  know  it.  I  guess  it  won't 
be  long  before  that  worthless  scamp  goes  to  the 
dump.  I  've  got  a  pretty  good  line  on  him  and  the 
store.  If  I  was  ten  years  younger,  I'd  go  down 
there  and  kick  him  out  and  put  the  house  on  its  feet 
again." 

59 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

He  had  frequently  told  her  that  Copeland-Farley 
was  doing  badly,  but  she  supposed  this  to  be  only 
the  wail  of  a  retired  pilot  who  thinks  his  old  ship 
is  doomed  to  disaster  without  his  hand  at  the  wheel. 
No  communications  had  passed  between  her  and 
Billy  since  the  day  of  Grace  Kinney's  party.  She 
persuaded  herself  that  she  could  face  Billy  Cope- 
land's  former  wife  with  a  good  conscience. 

"That  hound,"  began  Farley  after  an  interval  of 
silence,  "had  the  brass  to  try  to  put  her  in  the 
wrong  —  did  n't  dare  go  into  court  with  it,  but  let 
it  be  whispered  on  the  outside  to  save  his  own  face ! 
There  was  a  man  somewhere  used  to  visit  here,  a 
friend  of  his.  I  guess  nobody  took  any  stock  in  that 
scandal." 

"Of  course,  nobody  would  believe  it  of  her," 
said  Nan.  "I  hardly—" 

She  had  begun  to  say  that  it  was  incredible  that 
Billy  would  have  done  such  a  thing,  but  she  caught 
herself  in  time. 

"What?"  demanded  Farley  sharply.  "Well,  I 
guess  nobody  but  the  lowest  cur  would  have 
done  it." 

Mrs.  Copeland's  brown  bungalow  was  set  upon 
the  highest  point  on  her  farm,  and  from  her  veranda 
and  windows  she  could  view  every  part  of  it.  The 
veranda  was  made  to  be  lived  upon;  there  was  a 
table  with  books  and  periodicals;  a  work-basket 
lay  in  a  swing  seat  as  though  some  one  had  just 
put  it  down;  there  were  wall-pockets  filled  with 

60 


NAN   AND   BILLY'S  WIFE 

fresh  flowers.    Along  the  veranda  rail  nasturtiums 
bloomed  luxuriantly. 

As  Nan  waited  for  an  answer  to  her  ring,  the 
lower  floor  of  the  house  lay  plainly  in  view  through 
the  screen  door:  a  large  raftered  living-room  with  a 
broad  fireplace  and  a  dining-room  beyond.  Here  at 
least  were  comfort  and  peace.  Perhaps  Billy  Cope- 
land  's  wife  had  n't  fared  so  ill  after  all ! 

The  maid  said  Mrs.  Copeland  was  out  on  the 
farm,  and  an  observation  from  the  veranda  dis 
covered  her  in  the  barn  lot. 

Nan  had  counted  on  Farley's  presence  to  ease 
the  shock  of  the  meeting,  and  she  did  not  wholly 
relish  being  sent  off  alone  to  meet  a  woman  who 
might  be  pardoned  for  wishing  to  avoid  her.  Farley 
said  he  would  wait  in  the  car,  and  Nan  left  him  con 
tentedly  studying  the  house  and  its  encompassing 
landscape. 

When  Mrs.  Copeland  saw  Nan  approaching,  she 
started  across  the  lot  to  meet  her.  A  handsome 
collie  trotted  beside  her.  She  had  not  yet  identified 
her  visitor,  and  was  flinging  back  an  injunction  to 
a  workman  as  she  moved  toward  the  gate.  She 
wore  a  dark  skirt,  blue  waist,  and  heavy  shoes,  and 
a  boy's  round  felt  hat.  A  pair  of  shabby  tan  driv 
ing-gloves  covered  her  hands. 

"Good-afternoon!"  said  Nan.  "Papa  and  I  were 
passing,  and  he  thought  he  'd  like  to  see  your  place. 
If  you're  busy,  please  don't  bother." 

"Oh,  I  'm  glad  so  see  you,  Miss  Farley;  I  was  just 
61 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

coming  to  the  house.  My  pump  works  badly  and 
we  are  planning  some  changes.  I'm  glad  Mr. 
Farley  is  able  to  be  out  again." 

She  set  the  pace  with  a  quick,  eager  step.  Several 
times  she  turned  smilingly  toward  Nan;  the  girl 
saw  no  trace  of  hostility.  To  all  appearances  Fanny 
Copeland  was  a  happy,  contented  woman.  The  tem 
pests  might  vent  their  spite  on  her,  but  she  would  still 
hold  her  head  high.  Nan,  little  given  to  humility, 
experieced  suddenly  a  disturbing  sense  of  her  inferi 
ority  to  this  woman  whose  husband  she  had  allowed 
to  make  love  to  her. 

"  Yes,  I  get  a  great  deal  of  fun  out  of  the  farm," 
Mrs.  Copeland  was  saying.  "I  don't  have  any 
time  to  be  lonesome;  when  there's  nothing  else  to 
do,  I  can  fuss  around  the  garden.  And  now  that  I  've 
taken  up  poultry  there's  more  to  do  than  ever!" 

"I  believe  I'd  get  on  better  with  chickens  than 
with  cows,"  said  Nan.  "They  wouldn't  scare  me 
so  much." 

"Oh,  cows  are  adorable!  Aren't  these  in  this 
pasture  beauties!" 

A  calf  thrust  its  head  through  the  bars  of  the 
fence,  and  Fanny  patted  its  nose.  Nan  asked  if 
they  all  had  names  and  Mrs.  Copeland  declared 
that  naming  the  calves  was  the  hardest  part  of  her 
work. 

"I  think  it's  a  mistake  for  a  girl  to  grow  up 
without  knowing  how  to  earn  her  own  living,  and  I 
don't  know  a  thing!"  said  Nan  impulsively. 

62 


NAN    EXPERIENCED    SUDDENLY   A    DISTURBING   SENSE 
OF    HF.R    INFERIORITY   TO   THIS    WOMAN 


NAN  AND  BILLY'S   WIFE 

Fanny  looked  at  her  quickly.  If  it  was  in  her 
mind  that  the  obvious  and  expected  thing  for  Nan 
to  do  was  to  marry  Billy  Copeland,  she  made  no 
sign.  Nan  was  amazed  to  find  that  she  was  anxious 
to  appear  to  advantage  before  this  woman  who  had 
every  reason  for  disliking  and  distrusting  her,  and 
she  was  conscious  that  she  had  never  seemed  so 
stupid.  Her  modish  gown,  her  dainty  slippers  with 
their  silver  buckles,  contrasted  oddly  with  Fanny's 
simple  workaday  apparel.  She  was  self-conscious, 
uncomfortable.  And  yet  Fanny  was  wholly  at 
ease,  talking  light-heartedly  as  though  no  shadow 
had  ever  darkened  her  life. 

They  reached  the  house  and  found  that  Farley 
had  braved  the  steps  and  established  himself  on  the 
veranda.  The  maid  had  brought  him  a  glass  of 
milk  which  he  was  sipping  contentedly  while  he 
ran  his  eye  over  a  farm  paper. 

"Mrs.  Copeland,  what  will  you  take  for  your 
place?"  he  demanded.  "If  I'd  moved  into  the 
country  when  I  quit  business,  the  doctors  would  n't 
be  doggin'  me  to  death." 

"But  Miss  Farley  tells  me  you  are  almost  well 
again!  It's  fine  that  you  Ve  taken  up  motoring  — 
a  new  world  to  conquer  every  morning." 

"  I  got  tired  o'  bein'  hitched  to  the  bedpost;  that's 
all.  But  I  want  to  talk  farm.  It's  a  great  thing  for 
a  woman  to  run  a  place  like  this  and  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  examined  and  cross-examined  her  as  to  the 

63 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

joys  and  sorrows  of  dairying.  She  replied  good- 
naturedly  to  most  of  his  questions  and  parried  the 
others. 

"Of  course,  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  how  much  I 
lose  a  year!  Please  keep  it  a  dark  secret,  but  I'm 
not  losing  anything;  and  besides,  I'm  having  a 
mighty  good  time." 

"Well,"  he  warned  her,  "don't  let  it  put  you 
in  a  hole.  The  place  may  be  a  leetle  too  fancy. 
You  don't  want  to  make  your  butter  too  good; 
your  customers  won't  appreciate  it." 

"You  preach  what  you  never  practiced,"  laughed 
Nan.  "Your  rule  at  the  store  was  to  give  full 
measure." 

"Well,  I  guess  I  held  trade  when  I  got  it,"  he 
admitted. 

"I've  been  adding  another  department  to  the 
farm,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland.  "I  started  it  early  in 
the  summer  in  the  old  farmhouse  back  there  that 
was  on  the  place  when  father  bought  it.  Real 
homemade  canned  fruit,  pickles,  and  so  on.  I've 
set  up  four  girls  who  'd  found  life  a  hard  business, 
and  they  're  doing  the  work  with  a  farmer's  wife  to 
boss  them.  It's  my  business  to  sell  their  products. 
I  Ve  interested  some  of  the  farmers'  daughters,  and 
they  come  over  and  help  the  regulars  on  busy  days. 
We're  having  a  lot  of  fun  out  of  it." 

Farley  was  immensely  interested.  Nan  had  not 
in  a  long  time  heard  him  talk  so  much  or  so  ami 
ably;  he  praised  and  continued  to  praise  Mrs.  Cope- 

64 


NAN  AND   BILLY'S  WIFE 

land's  enterprise  and  success;  for  he  had  satisfied 
himself  fully  that  she  was  successful.  He  clearly 
liked  her;  her  quiet  humor,  her  grace  and  prettiness. 
In  his  blunt  way  he  told  her  she  was  getting  hand 
somer  all  the  time.  She  knew  how  to  talk  to  men  of 
his  type  and  met  him  on  his  own  ground. 

He  began  telling  stories  and  referred  to  Old  Sam 
Copeland  half  a  dozen  times,  quite  unconscious 
that  the  sometime  daughter-in-law  of  Old  Sam  was 
sitting  before  him.  Nan  grew  nervous,  but  Mrs. 
Copeland  met  the  situation  with  perfect  composure. 

Finally,  when  they  were  about  to  leave,  Eaton 
appeared.  He  had  walked  over  from  the  Country 
Club  merely,  he  protested,  to  refresh  himself  at 
Mrs.  Copeland's  buttermilk  fountains.  He  ad 
dressed  himself  cordially  to  Farley,  whose  liking 
for  him  was  manifest  in  a  brightening  of  the  old 
man's  eyes.  It  was  plain  that  Eaton  and  Mrs. 
Copeland  were  on  the  friendliest  terms ;  they  called 
each  other  by  their  first  names  without  mincing  or 
sidling. 

Nan  suspected  that  Eaton  had  come  by  arrange 
ment  and  that  in  all  likelihood  he  meant  to  stay  for 
dinner;  but  already  the  lawyer  was  saying,  as  he 
saw  Farley  taking  out  his  watch :  — 

"I'm  going  to  beg  a  lift  into  town  from  you 
plutocrats.  I  thought  I  could  stay  me  with  flagons 
of  buttermilk  and  catch  the  interurban  that  gallops 
by  at  five  fifty;  but  I  made  a  miscalculation  and 
have  already  missed  the  car." 

65 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"I  can  send  you  in,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland,  "if  it 
is  n't  perfectly  convenient  for  Mr.  Farley." 

"Of  course  Eaton  will  go  with  us,"  said  Farley 
cordially.  "It's  time  to  move,  Nan." 

While  Eaton  helped  him  down  the  steps,  Mrs. 
Copeland  detained  Nan  for  glimpses  of  the  land 
scape  from  various  points  on  the  veranda. 

"It  was  nice  of  you  to  stop ;  I  think  we  ought  to 
know  each  other  better,"  said  Fanny. 

"Thank  you!"  said  Nan,  surprised  and  pleased. 
"  It  won't  be  my  fault  if  we  don't! " 

As  they  crossed  the  veranda  their  hands  touched 
idly,  and  Mrs.  Copeland  caught  Nan's  fingers  and 
held  them  till  they  reached  the  steps.  This  trifling 
girlish  act  exercised  a  curious,  bewildering  effect 
upon  Nan.  She  might  have  argued  from  it  that 
Mrs.  Copeland  did  n't  know  —  did  n't  know  that 
she  was  touching  the  hand  of  the  woman  who  was 
accused  of  stealing  her  husband's  affections. 

"I  don't  see  many  people,"  Mrs.  Copeland  was 
saying;  "and  sometimes  I  get  lonesome.  You  must 
bring  your  father  out  again,  very  soon.  He  can  ride 
to  the  barn  in  his  machine  and  see  my  whole  plant." 

"He  would  like  that;  he's  one  of  your  warmest 
admirers,  you  know." 

"We  always  did  seem  to  understand  each  other," 
she  laughed;  " probably  because  I  always  talk  back 
to  him." 

"He's  much  gentler  than  he  looks  or  talks;  and 
he  means  to  be  kind  and  just,"  replied  Nan,  know- 

66 


I  'M    NOT    LOSING   ANYTHING;    AND    BESIDES,    I   'M 
HAVING   A   MIGHTY   GOOD   TIME" 


NAN  AND  BILLY'S   WIFE 

ing  in  her  heart  that  she  had  frequently  questioned 
both  his  kindness  and  his  justice.  "  I  hope  you  will 
stop  and  see  us,  very  soon.  Papa's  getting  too 
much  of  my  company;  it  would  cheer  him  a  lot  to 
see  you." 

"  I  never  make  calls,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Cope- 
land,  smiling,  "  but  I  'm  going  to  accept  your  invita 
tion." 

Bitterness  and  resentment,  traces  of  which  Nan 
had  sought  in  this  cheery,  alert  little  woman,  were 
not  apparent.  Her  kindness  and  sweetness  and 
tolerance,  as  of  the  fields  themselves,  impressed 
Nan  deeply. 

In  saying  good-bye  Nan  impulsively  put  out  both 
hands. 

"I  wish  we  could  be  good  friends!"  she  ex 
claimed. 

Her  face  flushed  scarlet  the  moment  she  had 
spoken,  but  Fanny's  manner  betrayed  no  agita 
tion. 

"Let's  consider  that  we're  already  old  friends," 
she  responded,  smiling  into  the  girl's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   COLLECTOR   OF   FACTS 

WHEN  Jerry  came  in  "off  the  road"  Saturday,  he 
found  a  note  from  Eaton  asking  him  to  call  at  his 
office  that  evening.  To  comply  with  this  request, 
Jerry  was  obliged  to  forego  the  delights  of  a  dance 
at  the  Little  Ripple  Club  to  which  he  had  looked 
forward  with  the  liveliest  anticipations  all  the  week. 
But  Eaton  was  not,  in  Amidon's  estimation,  a  per 
son  to  whom  one  telephoned  regrets  with  impunity, 
and  at  eight  o'clock  he  knocked  at  Eaton's  door  on 
the  fifteenth  floor  of  the  White  River  Trust  Build 
ing  and  was  admitted  by  the  lawyer  in  person. 

Eaton's  office  always  exerted  a  curious  spell  on 
Jerry's  imagination.  This  was  attributable  in  some 
measure  to  the  presence  of  cabinets  filled  with  mod 
els  of  patentable  and  unpatentable  devices  —  queer 
contrivances  with  each  its  story  of  some  inventor's 
success  or  failure.  The  most  perfect  order  was 
everywhere  apparent.  Books  from  the  ample  li 
brary  were  never  strewn  about  in  the  manner  of  most 
law  offices,  and  Eaton's  flat-top  desk  in  the  last 
room  of  the  suite  was  usually  clear;  or  if  papers 
were  permitted  to  lie  upon  it,  they  were  piled  evenly 
and  weighted  with  a  smooth  stone  that  was  never 
visible  unless  in  use.  The  file-cases  (of  the  newest 

68 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

and  most  approved  type)  contained  not  only 
letters,  legal  papers,  and  receipts,  but,  known  to 
no  one  but  the  girl  who  cared  for  them,  newspaper 
clippings  and  typewritten  memoranda  on  a  thou 
sand  and  one  subjects  that  bore  no  apparent  rela 
tion  to  the  practice  of  law. 

Facts  were  Eaton's  passion;  with  facts,  one 
might,  he  believed,  conquer  the  world;  indeed,  he 
was  capable  of  demonstrating  that  all  the  battles 
in  history  were  lost  or  won  by  the  facts  carried  into 
the  contest  by  the  respective  commanders.  He  had 
so  often  disturbed  the  office  of  the  Commissioner  of 
Patents  with  his  facts  that  the  public  servants  in 
charge  of  that  department  were  little  disposed  to 
risk  a  brush  with  him  on  points  that  involved  facts, 
facts  that  seemed,  in  his  use  of  them,  to  glitter  like 
the  lenses  of  his  eyeglasses. 

He  seated  himself  in  his  office  chair  —  a  leathern 
affair  with  a  high  back  —  and  bade  Amidon  shed  his 
coat  and  be  comfortable. 

"Smoke?"  he  suggested,  opening  a  drawer  con 
taining  cigars  and  cigarettes.  Jerry  hated  ready- 
made  cigarettes,  but  he  was  afraid  to  produce  the 
"makings"  before  Eaton,  who  had  once  complained 
that  the  odor  of  the  tobacco  he  affected  was  sug 
gestive  of  burning  jimson  weed.  Eaton  produced  a 
glass  ash-tray,  and  filled  a  pipe  with  the  delibera 
tion  he  brought  to  every  act. 

"Business  is  bad,  I  suppose,  as  usual,"  he  re 
marked  leadingly. 

69 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Rotten!  The  shark  that  runs  the  credits  has 
cut  off  one  or  two  of  my  easiest  marks;  but  I 
managed  to  end  last  month  with  a  ten-per-cent 
advance  over  last  year's  business,  and  that  helps 
some." 

"You  have  spoken  well,  Amidon.  I  suppose  you 
were  received  with  joyous  acclaim  by  the  boss,  and 
urged  to  accept  a  raise  in  wages?" 

"Stop  kidding  me!  I'm  sensitive  about  my 
wages.  They  still  pretend  they're  just  trying  me 
out  —  not  sure  I'll  make  good  and  that  sort  of 
piffle!" 

"That  sort  of  piffle"  was  a  phrase  he  had  taken 
over  bodily  from  Eaton's  familiar  discourse.  So 
sensitive  was  he  to  Eaton's  influence  that  he  imi 
tated,  with  fair  success,  the  unruffled  ease  that  was 
second  nature  to  the  lawyer.  He  was  also  practicing 
Eaton's  trick  of  blinking  before  uttering  a  sen 
tence,  and  then  letting  it  slip  with  a  casual,  indiffer 
ent  air.  Eaton  had  used  this  in  the  cross-examina 
tion  of  witnesses  to  good  purpose.  Amidon  had 
exercised  it  so  constantly  in  commercial  and  social 
conversation  that  he  had  to  be  on  guard  lest  Eaton, 
whose  discernment  seemed  to  him  to  partake  of  the 
supernatural,  should  catch  him  at  it  and  detect  its 
spuriousness. 

"Won  a  case  somewhat  in  your  line  the  other 
day;  defended  a  trade-mark  of  the  Pomona  Velvet 
Complexion  Cream,  warranted  to  remove  whole 
constellations  of  freckles  in  one  night.  Seductive 

70 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

label,  showing  a  lovely  maiden  unfreckling  herself 
before  a  mirror;  bottle  of  Pomona  in  her  hand. 
Basely  and  clumsily  imitated  by  a  concern  in 
Kansas  that's  been  feloniously  uttering  a  Romona 
Complexion  Cream.  The  only  original  Pomona 
girl  held  the  bottle  in  her  right  hand ;  label  on  Ro 
mona  nostrum  showed  it  clenched  in  her  left." 

"Hard  luck!"  said  Amidon,  deeply  interested. 
"We've  been  pushing  that  Kansas  beautifier —  a 
larger  discount  for  the  jobber  than  the  Pomona. 
Reckon  we  '11  have  to  chuck  it  now.  I  suppose  the 
judge  did  n't  know  Pomona  removes  the  cuticle  — 
has  n't  the  real  soothing  effect  of  the  Romona." 

"  I'll  mention  that  to  the  district  attorney  and  he 
can  pass  it  on  to  the  government  inspectors.  I  'm 
annoyed  by  your  revelation.  Shock  to  my  con 
science  —  defending  a  company  that  poisons  the 
young  and  beautiful  of  the  republic." 

"Now  that  you  know  what  a  swindle  you  de 
fended,  I  suppose  you'll  turn  back  your  fee  —  if 
you've  got  it?" 

"Retainer  of  a  thousand  dollars,"  Eaton  replied 
easily;  "it  would  be  immoral  to  return  it,  thus  in 
creasing  the  dividends  of  such  an  unscrupulous  cor 
poration.  However,  I  '11  consider  giving  half  of  it 
to  the  Children's  Aid  Society." 

It  was  pleasant  in  any  circumstances  to  sit  in 
Eaton's  presence,  to  enjoy  his  confidence;  and  yet 
nothing  so  far  disclosed  justified  Jerry's  relinquish- 
ment  of  the  Little  Ripple  Club  dance. 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Which  of  our  noble  streams  did  you  follow  this 
trip  —  the  Pan-haunted  Wabash  or  the  mighty 
Ohio,  sacred  to  the  muses  nine?" 

Allusions  of  this  sort,  to  which  Eaton  was  prone, 
were  Jerry's  despair.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  worth 
subjecting  one's  self  to  the  discomforts  of  a  college 
education  to  be  able  to  talk  like  this,  easily  and 
naturally.  But  he  was  aware  that  Eaton  was  driv 
ing  at  something;  and  while  it  was  the  lawyer's  way 
to  lead  conversations  into  blind  alleys,  he  always 
arrived  somewhere  and  fitted  a  key  into  the  lock 
that  had  been  his  aim  from  the  start. 

"  I  shook  hands  with  the  trade  along  the  Ohio 
this  trip.  I  can  tell  you  it's  lonesome  at  night  in 
those  river  burgs;  the  folks  just  sit  and  wait  for  the 
spring  flood  —  and  even  it  fails  sometimes.  They 
turn  the  reel  once  daily  in  the  movies,  and  the  whole 
town's  asleep  at  nine-thirty." 

"A  virtuous  and  home-loving  people,  but  crime 
occasionally  disturbs  the  peace.  Murders  should 
always  occur  along  navigable  streams,  so  the  victim 
can  be  sent  cruising  at  once  toward  New  Orleans 
and  the  still-vexed  Bermoothes." 

Amidon  thought  he  caught  a  gleam;  but  experi 
ence  had  taught  him  the  unwisdom  of  anticipating 
the  unfolding  of  Eaton's  purposes. 

"Oh,  there's  always  a  lot  of  crooks  loafing  along 
the  river;  they  keep  their  skins  filled  with  whiskey 
and  they  fish  and  shoot  muskrats  and  do  a  little 
murdering  on  the  side." 

72 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

"Interesting  type,"  said  Eaton  musingly.  "If 
you  were  at  Belleville  this  week,  you  must  have 
heard  of  a  murder  down  there  —  man  found  stabbed 
to  death  in  a  house-boat." 

Jerry  grinned,  pleased  with  his  own  perspicacity  in 
having  surmised  the  object  of  the  interview.  Murder 
was  not,  Amidon  would  have  said,  within  the  range 
of  Mr.  John  Cecil  Eaton's  interests;  and  yet  this 
was  not  the  first  time  that  the  lawyer's  inquiries 
had  touched  affairs  that  seemed  wholly  foreign  to 
his  proper  orbit. 

"  I  was  there  the  day  after  they  found  the  body. 
They  had  already  arrested  the  wrong  man  and 
turned  him  loose  —  as  usual.  They  always  do  that; 
and  they  '11  probably  pick  up  some  tramp  who  was 
visiting  old  college  friends  in  New  York  when  the 
murder  was  committed  and  indict  him  so  the  prose 
cuting  attorney  can  show  he's  on  the  job." 

"You  should  n't  speak  in  that  manner  of  sworn 
officers  of  the  law,"  Eaton  admonished.  "Better 
that  forty  innocent  men  should  be  hanged  than  that 
one  guilty  man  escape." 

Jerry  fidgeted  nervously  as  Eaton's  glasses  were 
turned  for  a  full  minute  upon  the  ceiling. 

"A  Cincinnati  paper  printed  an  item  yesterday 
about  that  murder  case,  mentioning  the  arrest  of 
a  suspect  at  Henderson  on  the  Kentucky  shore." 
Eaton  hesitated.  "The  suspect's  name  was  Corri- 
gan.  You  have  known  Corrigans,  perhaps?" 

There  was  a  faint  tinkle  in  the  remote  recesses 

73 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

of  Jerry's  consciousness  as  the  shot,  so  carelessly 
fired,  reached  the  target. 

"The  name's  common  enough;  I've  known  a 
number  of  Corrigans." 

"But,"  the  lawyer  continued,  "there  have  been 
instances  of  Corrigans  ceasing  to  be  Corrigans  and 
becoming  something  else." 

"You  mean,"  Amidon  replied,  meeting  Eaton's 
eyes  as  they  were  bent  suddenly  upon  him,  "that 
a  Corrigan  might  become  a  Farley.  Am  I  right?" 

"Quite  right.  I  was  just  wondering  whether  you 
had  picked  up  anything  about  this  particular  case 
down  along  the  river.  I  have  no  interest  in  it  what 
ever — only  the  idlest  curiosity.  I  happened  to  recall 
that  Miss  Farley  had  been  a  Corrigan;  I  have  a 
note  of  that  somewhere." 

He  swung  his  chair  round  and  surveyed  the  file- 
cases  back  of  him.  His  gaze  fell  upon  a  drawer 
marked  F,  as  though  he  were  reading  the  contents 
through  the  label  —  a  feat  which  Amidon  thought 
not  beyond  Eaton's  powers. 

Jerry  resented  the  idea  that  Nan  Farley  might 
still  be  affected  by  the  lawless  deeds  of  any  of  her 
kinsfolk ;  he  became  increasingly  uncomfortable  the 
more  he  reflected  that  the  lawyer,  with  all  his  in 
difference,  would  not  be  discussing  this  subject  un 
less  he  had  some  reason  for  doing  so. 

"  It  was  stated  that  this  particular  Corrigan  had 
wealthy  connections  —  that  always  sounds  well  in 
such  news  items,  as  though  rich  relations  were  a 

74 


A  COLLECTOR  OF   FACTS 

mitigating  circumstance  likely  to  arouse  public  sym 
pathy.  Mere  snobbishness,  Amidon;  and  snob 
bishness  is  always  detestable.  If  that  particular 
Corrigan  hopes  to  obtain  help  from  a  sister  now 
known  as  Farley,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  ought  to 
possess  myself  of  the  fact.  You  understand  that 
what  we  're  saying  to  each  other  is  entirely  sub  rosa. 
We've  never  happened  to  speak  of  Miss  Farley;  but 
having  been  connected  with  the  Copeland- Farley 
Company  before  Farley  retired,  you  probably  have 
heard  of  her.  A  very  interesting  girl  —  slightly 
spoiled  by  prosperity,  but  really  refreshingly  orig 
inal.  Do  you  mind  telling  me  whether  you  have  any 
reason  for  believing  that  the  particular  Corrigan 
arrested  down  there  as  a  suspect,  and  with  those 
wealthy  connections  so  discreetly  suggested  in  the 
newspaper,  is  related  in  any  way  to  Nan  Farley?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  Corrigan  boy,  considerably 
older  than  I  am  —  probably  about  thirty  now,  and 
not  much  to  brag  of.  I  've  asked  about  him  now 
and  then  when  I  dropped  off  at  Belleville,  and  I 
never  heard  any  good  of  him  —  just  about  the  kind 
of  scamp  that  would  mix  up  in  a  cutting  scrape  and 
get  pinched." 

"And  who,  having  been  pinched, — what  we 
may  call  a  pinchee,  one  who  has  been  pinched,  - 
might  perhaps  remember  that  he  had  a  prosperous 
sister  somewhere  and  appeal  to  her  for  help?  Such 
things  have  happened;  it  would  be  very  annoying 
for  a  young  woman  who  had  emerged  —  risen  - 

75 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

climbed  away  from  her  state  of  Corriganism,  so  to 
speak,  to  have  her  relationship  with  such  a  person 
printed  in  the  newspapers  of  her  own  city.  I  merely 
wish  to  be  prepared  for  any  emergency  that  may 
arise.  Not,  of  course,  that  this  is  any  of  my  busi 
ness;  but  it's  remarkable  how  other  people's 
affairs  become  in  a  way  our  own.  Somebody  has 
remarked  that  life  is  altogether  a  matter  of  our 
reciprocal  obligations.  There 's  much  truth  in  that, 
Amidon." 

Jerry  did  not  wholly  grasp  this,  but  he  confirmed 
it  with  a  nod.  Now  that  Nan  Farley  had  been  men 
tioned,  he  hoped  Eaton  would  drop  life's  reciprocal 
obligations  and  talk  of  her;  and  he  began  describing 
his  meeting  with  her,  in  such  manner  as  to  present 
his  quondam  schoolmate  in  the  most  favorable  light. 

Eaton  listened  to  this  recital  with  as  much  inter 
est  as  he  ever  exhibited  in  anything  that  was  said 
to  him.  He  smiled  at  the  young  fellow's  frank  ac 
knowledgment  that  it  was  in  a  spirit  of  the  most 
servile  imitation  that  he  had  gone  forth  with  his  fly- 
box.  The  ways -in  which  Amidon  aped  him  amused 
Eaton.  He  addressed  him  as  "Amidon,"  or  as  "my 
dear  Amidon,"  or  "my  dear  fellow,"  and  talked  to 
him  exactly  as  he  talked  to  his  cronies  at  the  Uni 
versity  Club;  for  while  he  was  looked  upon  as  an 
aristocrat,  —  the  last  of  an  old  family  that  dated 
back  to  the  beginnings  of  the  town,  —  at  heart  he 
was  the  soundest  of  democrats.  Jerry's  meeting 
with  Nan  on  the  river  bank  seemed  to  him  the  most 

76 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

delightful  of  confrontations,  and  he  sought  by  char 
acteristic  means  to  extract  every  detail  of  it. 

"Well,  sir,  after  she  had  been  so  nice  and  turned 
to  go,  she  swung  round  and  came  back  —  actually 
came  back  to  shake  hands !  I  call  that  pretty  fine ; 
and  me  just  a  little  scrub  that  was  only  a  bunch  of 
freckles  and  as  tough  a  little  mutt  as  ever  lived 
when  she  used  to  know  me.  Why,  if  she  'd  said  she 
never  heard  of  me,  she'd  have  put  it  over  and  I 
could  n't  have  said  a  word!" 

" She  mentioned  the  meeting  to  me  a  little  later," 
observed  Eaton  carelessly. 

"Like  thunder  she  did!"  exploded  Jerry.  "So 
you  knew  all  about  it  and  let  me  go  ahead  just  to 
kid  me!  Well,  I  like  that!" 

"Merely  to  get  as  much  light  on  the  subject  as 
possible.  We  stumble  too  much  in  darkness;  the 
truth  helps  a  good  deal,  Amidon.  Miss  Farley 
spoke  of  you  in  terms  that  would  not  have  dis 
pleased  you.  I  assure  you  that  she  had  enjoyed 
the  interview;  her  description  of  it  was  flattering 
to  your  tact,  your  intuitive  sense  of  social  values. 
But  it  was  all  very  sketchy  —  you  Ve  filled  in  im 
portant  omissions.  For  instance,  the  giving  of  her 
hand,  as  an  afterthought,  was  not  mentioned;  but 
I  visualize  it  perfectly  from  your  narrative.,  We 
may  read  into  that  act  good-fellowship,  gracious- 
ness,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  She's  a  graceful 
person,  and  I  can  quite  see  her  extending  a  per 
fectly  gloved  hand  - 

77 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Wrong  for  once;  she  hadn't  on  any  gloves!  But 
she  had  a  handkerchief.  It  was  drying  on  a  bush." 

"Ah!  That  is  very  important.  Tears,  perhaps? 
Her  presence  alone  on  the  shore  rather  calls  for  an 
explanation.  If  she  had  gone  down  there  by  her 
self  to  cry,  it  is  imaginable  that  life  had  n't  been 
wholly  to  her  taste  earlier  in  the  afternoon." 

"She  did  n't  look  as  though  she  had  ever  cried  a 
tear  in  her  life,  and  why  should  she?" 

"The  Irish,"  replied  Eaton  reflectively,  "are  a 
temperamental  race.  I  had  knowledge  of  her  — 
remote  but  sufficient  —  before  she  sought  the  cool, 
umbrageous  shore.  Her  companions  were  the  gay 
est,  and  they  doubtless  bored  her  until  a  mood  of 
introspection  seized  her  —  sorrow,  regret,  a  resolve 
to  do  quite  differently.  Very  likely  you  were  a 
humble  instrument  of  Providence  to  win  her  back 
to  a  good  opinion  of  herself.  So  she  seemed  quite 
jolly  and  radiant?  Conceivably  your  appearance 
caused  her  to  think  of  her  blessings  —  of  her  far 
flight  from  those  scenes  your  presence  summoned 
from  the  past." 

"Well,  she's  a  fine  girl  all  right,"  Amidon  com 
mented  to  cover  his  embarrassment  at  being  unable 
to  follow  Eaton  in  his  excursion  into  the  realm  of 
psychology.  "You  wouldn't  have  thought  that 
girl,  born  in  a  shack  with  as  good-for-nothing  folks 
as  anybody  ever  had,  would  grow  up  to  be  about 
the  finest  living  girl!  I  guess  you'd  hunt  pretty 
hard  before  you'd  find  a  girl  to  touch  her." 

78 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

" I've  thought  of  that  myself,  though  not  in  quite 
your  felicitous  phrases." 

"Don't  rub  it  in!"  Amidon  protested.  "I  guess 
the  less  I  think  about  a  girl  like  that  the  better  for 
me.  And  I  guess  there 's  plenty  of  fellows  got  their 
eye  on  her.  I  've  heard  some  talk  at  the  store  about 
her  and  the  boss." 

"She  doesn't  lack  admirers,  of  course.  When 
you  say  'boss,'  you  refer,  I  assume,  to  Mr.  Cope- 
land?" 

Eaton  looked  up  from  the  polishing  of  his 
glasses  —  a  rite  performed  with  scrupulous  care. 
The  vague  stare  of  his  near-sighted  eyes,  unpro 
tected  by  his  glasses,  added  to  a  disinterestedness 
expressed  otherwise  by  his  careless  tone. 

"Well,"  Amidon  began,  defensively,  "Copeland 
is  the  boss,  all  right,  —  that  is,  when  he 's  on  the 
job  at  all.  He's  some  sport,  but  when  he  calls  me 
into  his  pen  and  goes  over  my  orders,  he  knows 
whether  I  'm  on  the  right  side  of  the  average.  Only 
he  does  n't  do  that  with  any  of  the  boys  more  than 
once  in  two  months.  He  does  n't  quite  get  the 
habit;  just  seems  to  think  of  it  occasionally." 

"Capacity  without  application!  Unfortunate, 
but  not  incurable.  To  be  sure,  an  old  business  like 
Copeland- Farley  is  hard  to  kill.  Billy  Copeland 's 
father  had  the  constructive  genius,  and  Farley  had 
the  driving  power.  It's  up  to  Billy  not  to  let  the 
house  die  on  his  hands.  Trouble  is,  the  iron  dimin 
ishes  in  the  blood  of  a  new  generation:  too  easy  a 

79 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

time  of  it,  soft-handed,  loss  of  moral  force,  and  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"I  guess  Copeland  travels  a  pretty  lively  clip,  all 
right,"  ventured  Amidon,  not  without  a  tinge  of 
pride  in  his  boss.  "He  and  Kinney  are  pace-setters; 
they  Ve  got  plenty  of  gasoline  in  the  buggy  and  like 
to  burn  it.  The  boss  may  be  a  sport,  but  he's  a 
good  fellow,  anyhow.  I  guess  if  he  wants  to  marry 
Miss  Farley  he's  got  a  right  to." 

He  uttered  this  tamely,  doubtful  as  to  how  his 
guide  and  mentor  might  receive  it,  but  anxious  to 
evoke  an  expression. 

"A  trifle  weak,  but  well-meaning,"  remarked 
Eaton,  as  though  he  had  been  searching  some  time 
for  a  phrase  that  expressed  his  true  appraisement 
of  Copeland.  "  It's  deplorable  that  fellows  like  that 
—  who  really  have  some  capacity,  but  who  are 
weak-sinewed  morally  —  can't  be  protected  from 
their  own  folly;  saved,  perhaps.  Our  religion,  Ami 
don,  is  deficient  in  its  practical  application.  A  hand 
on  your  boss's  shoulder  at  the  right  moment,  a 
word  of  friendly  admonition,  might  — er  —  save 
him  from  a  too- wasteful  expenditure  of  gasoline.  If 
I  had  the  gift  of  literary  expression,  I  should  like  to 
write  a  treatise  on  man's  duty  to  man.  It's  odd, 
Amidon,"  he  went  on,  refilling  his  pipe,  "that  we 
must  sit  by  —  chaps  like  you  and  me  —  and  see 
our  brothers  skidding  into  the  ditch  and  never  feel 
any  responsibility  about  them.  Doubtless  you  and 
I  are  known  to  many  of  our  friends  as  weak  mortals, 

80 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

in  dire  need  of  help,  —  or,  perhaps,  only  a  word  of 
warning  that  the  bridges  are  down  ahead  of  us 
would  suffice,  —  and  yet  how  rarely  do  we  feel 
that  hand  on  the  shoulder?  We  should  be  annoyed, 
displeased,  hot  clean  through,  if  anybody  —  even 
an  old  and  valued  friend  —  should  beg  us  to  slow 
down.  It's  queer,  Amidon,  how  reluctant  we  are  to 
extend  the  saving  hand.  Timidity,  fear  of  offending 
and  that  sort  of  thing  holds  us  back.  It  becomes 
necessary  to  perform  our  Christian  duty  in  the  dark, 
by  the  most  indirect  and  hidden  methods." 

Amidon  frowned,  not  sure  that  he  understood; 
and  he  hated  himself  when  he  did  not  understand 
Eaton.  Not  to  grasp  his  friend's  ideas  convicted 
him  of  stupidity  and  ignorance.  Religion  in  Ami- 
don's  experience  meant  going  to  church  and  being 
bored.  He  remembered  that  the  last  time  he  had 
visited  a  church  he  had  gone  to  hear  a  girl  acquaint 
ance  sing  a  solo.  She  sang  very  badly,  indeed,  and 
he  had  been  depressed  by  the  knowledge  that  she 
was  spending  for  music  lessons  wages  earned  as  a 
clerk  at  the  soap  and  perfumery  counter  in  a  depart 
ment  store.  Eaton's  occasional  monologues  on  what, 
for  a  better  name,  he  called  his  friend's  religion, 
struck  him  as  fantastic;  he  was  never  sure  that 
Eaton  was  n't  kidding  him ;  and  the  suspicion  that 
you  are  being  kidded  by  a  man  at  whose  feet  you 
sit  in  adoration  is  not  agreeable.  But  Eaton  had  be 
come  intelligible  again. 

"I've  sometimes  wondered  whether  Copeland 
81 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

should  n't  be  saved  —  a  good  subject  for  experi 
ment,  at  least.  To  demonstrate  that  we  have  the 
courage  of  our  convictions  we  must  take  a  hard  nut 
to  crack.  Queer  thing,  that  religious  effort,  as  we 
now  see  it,  is  directed  solely  to  the  poor  and  needy 
—  the  down-and-outers.  Take  a  man  of  the  day 
laborer  type,  the  sort  that  casually  beats  his  wife 
for  recreation:  gets  clear  down  in  the  gutter,  and 
the  Salvation  Army  tackles  his  case  —  sets  him  up 
again;  good  work!  Great  institution  —  the  Army. 
But  you  take  the  men  who  belong  to  clubs  and  eat 
course  dinners;  they  don't  beat  their  wives  —  only 
say  upleasant  things  to  them  when  the  bills  run 
too  high ;  when  such  fellows  get  restless,  absorb  too 
much  drink,  neglect  business,  begin  seeing  their 
bankers  in  the  back  room  —  where 's  your  man, 
society,  agency,  to  put  the  necessary  hand  on  that 
particular  shoulder?  What  we  do,  Amidon,  when 
we  see  such  a  chap  turning  up  Monday  morning 
with  a  hang-over  from  Saturday  night,  is  to  remark, 
'  Too  bad  about  Tom '  -  —  or  '  Dick '  or  '  Harry '  — • 
and  then  go  to  the  club  and  order  a  cocktail.  That's 
how  we  meet  our  reciprocal  obligations!" 

There  seemed  nothing  that  Amidon  could  add  to 
this;  but  plainly  it  was  "Billy"  Copeland,  who  was 
in  Eaton's  mind,  and  no  imaginary  Tom,  Dick,  or 
Harry;  so  he  ventured  to  remark:  - 

"Well,  I  guess  the  boss  hasn't  let  go  yet;  he'll 
pull  up.  He's  the  best  man  on  the  street  to  work 
for  —  when  you  can  feel  you  are  working  for  him." 

82 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

"Pleasanter  to  work  for  a  boss  than  the  boss's 
creditors,  of  course.  And  minor  stockholders 
sometimes  get  anxious  and  cause  trouble." 

These  utterances  were  like  important  memoranda 
jotted  down  on  the  margin  of  a  page  whose  text  is 
of  little  value  in  itself.  Amidon  stared  blankly. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that;  I  guess  the 
house  has  always  made  money,  We  do  more  busi 
ness  than  any  other  drug  house  in  the  State." 

"An  excellent  business,  of  course.  And  we'd 
imagine  that  a  man  falling  heir  to  it  would  take 
pride  in  holding  on  to  it.  But  if  he  does  n't,  some 
body  else  will  take  the  job.  I  Ve  seen  the  signs 
change  on  a  good  many  business  houses  in  my  day. 
Your  boss  has  taken  several  little  flyers  on  the  out 
side  since  his  father  died;  he's  rather  fascinated 
with  the  idea  of  being  vice-president  of  new  con 
cerns:  minor  trust  companies,  doubtful  manufac 
turing  schemes,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  All  this  is 
entirely  in  confidence;  I'm  using  you  as  an  incen 
tive  to  thought.  Kindly  consider  that  my  reflec 
tions  are  all  inter  nos.  That  murder  business  got 
us  started  —  but  of  course,  it  has  n't  anything  to 
do  with  your  boss.  It  had  occurred  to  me,  though, 
that  both  you  and  I  may  have  certain  reciprocal 
obligations  in  some  of  these  matters  we  have 
touched  on.  One  never  can  tell  where  the  oppor 
tunity  to  serve  —  to  lay  that  friendly  hand  on  a 
particular  shoulder  —  may  present  itself!  " 

During  a  rather  long  silence  Amidon  pondered 

83 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

this,  wholly  mystified  as  to  just  what  he  or  John 
Cecil  Eaton  had  to  do  with  the  affairs  of  William 
B.  Copeland,  a  gentleman  whose  shoulder  did  not, 
on  the  instant,  seem  to  present  itself  as  a  likely  ob 
ject  for  the  laying  on  of  hands.  But  Eaton  was 
saying :  - 

"Coming  to  the  matter  of  outside  investments, 
there's  Kinney's  ivory  cement.  The  Kinney  Manu 
facturing  Company's  a  client  of  mine,  and  it 
would  n't  be  proper  for  me  to  express  an  opinion 
even  to  you,  Amidon,  on  the  stability  of  its 
patents." 

"Well,"  said  Amidon,  "everybody  thinks  Kin 
ney's  making  all  the  money  there  is;  he'd  have  to, 
to  put  as  much  jam  on  his  bread  as  he's  spread 
ing.  I  meet  his  road  men  now  and  then,  and  they 
sob  because  they  can't  fill  orders.  They're  not 
looking  for  new  business;  they're  shaking  hands 
with  the  customers  they  've  already  got  and  telling 
'em  to  sit  at  the  freight  house  until  the  factory 
catches  up  with  orders.  And  before  he  hit  that 
cement,  Kinney  was  bookkeeper  in  a  brickyard!" 

"Have  a  care,  Amidon!  You  must  be  careful  of 
your  facts  even  in  social  conversation.  Mr.  Kinney 
had  a  small  interest  in  a  brickyard,  which  is  very 
different.  By  the  way,  your  opportunities  for  cul 
tivating  Mr.  Copeland's  acquaintance  are  rather 
restricted?  Except  on  those  rare  occasions  when  he 
summons  you  to  make  sure  your  orders  cover  your 
expense  account,  you  don't  see  much  of  him?" 

84 


A  COLLECTOR  OF  FACTS 

"Oh,  he  used  to  give  me  a  jolly  occasionally  be 
fore  I  went  on  the  road  —  ask  me  why  our  ball 
team  was  glued  to  the  tail  of  the  league  and  things 
like  that.  Once  he  asked  me  to  look  up  a  good 
chauffeur  for  him  —  and  I  got  him  a  chap  who  'd 
been  a  professional  racer.  I  guess  that  made  a  hit 
with  him." 

"An  assumption  not  wholly  unwarranted.  I  hope 
he  finds  the  chauffeur  satisfactory?" 

"  I  guess  he  does;  he  must  like  him,  for  he  bails 
him  out  about  once  a  week  when  he  gets  pinched 
for  speeding." 

"Rather  unfortunate  that  you're  not  an  inside 
man,  so  you  could  observe  the  boss  more  closely; 
not,  of  course,  to  the  extent  of  exercising  an  espion 
age  —  but  it  might  be  possible  —  er  - 

"Well,  I  can  have  an  inside  job  if  I  want  it.  My 
being  on  the  road  was  just  a  try-out,  and  I  'm  not 
so  keen  about  hopping  ties  with  the  sample-cases. 
If  I'm  going  to  tackle  the  reading  you've  laid  out 
for  me,  I  '11  have  to  change  my  job.  The  head 
stock-man 's  quitting  to  go  into  heavy  chemicals  on 
his  own  hook;  I  guess  I  could  get  his  place." 

"Don't  refuse  it  without  full  consideration.  My 
attitude  toward  you  thus  far  has  been  wholly 
critical ;  I  've  refrained  from  compliments ;  but  it 
would  interest  me  to  —  er  —  see  what  you  can  do 
with  your  brains.  I  suggest  that  you  learn  every 
thing  there  is  about  the  business  outside  and  in: 
become  indispensable,  be  tolerant  of  stupidity, 

85 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

forbearing  amid  jealousy,  and  indifferent  to  con 
tumely;  zealous,  watchful,  polite,  without,  let  us 
say,  sissiness.  Manners,  my  dear  boy,  are  appraised 
far  too  low  in  our  commercial  life." 

The  grin  occasioned  by  these  injunctions  died  on 
Amidon's  face  as  he  realized  that  the  lawyer  was  in 
earnest;  but  he  was  very  much  at  sea.  Eaton  was 
a  busy  man,  as  his  generous  office  space  and  the 
variety  of  his  paraphernalia  testified;  just  why  he 
had  sought  an  interview,  for  the  sole  reason,  appar 
ently,  of  extracting  a  little  information  and  giving 
a  little  advice,  caused  Amidon  to  wonder.  He  was 
still  wondering  when  Eaton  rose  and  glanced  at  the 
tiniest  of  watches,  which  he  carried  like  a  coin  in  his 
trousers  pocket  and  always  looked  at  as  though 
surprised  to  find  he  had  it. 

"Time  for  me  to  be  off;  arguing  a  case  in  Pitts- 
burg  Monday." 

He  opened  a  bag  that  lay  beside  him  on  the  floor, 
pulled  a  packet  from  a  drawer  and  dropped  it  in, 
and  told  Jerry  he  might,  if  he  had  nothing  better  to 
do,  accompany  him  to  the  station. 


CHAPTER   VI 

AN   ERROR   OF   JUDGMENT 

NAN  stood  at  her  window  watching  a  man  turn 
out  of  the  walk  that  led  from  the  front  door  to  the 
street.  Her  eyes  followed  him  until  the  hedge  hid 
him  from  sight,  and  then  she  sat  huddled  in  the 
window-seat,  breathing  hard  from  her  run  upstairs. 
She  went  to  her  desk  and  glanced  at  a  page  of  the 
pass-book  of  a  trust  company  that  showed  the  with 
drawal  on  June  29  of  one  thousand  dollars  from  her 
savings  account.  There  remained  a  balance  of  six 
teen  hundred,  and  she  verified  the  subtraction  be 
fore  thrusting  the  book  into  the  bottom  of  a  drawer 
under  a  mass  of  invitations  she  meant  at  some  time 
to  file  in  a  book  she  kept  as  a  record  of  her  social 
activities. 

She  knew  that  she  had  made  a  mistake,  and  she 
was  considering  the  chances  of  discovery  with  a 
wildly  beating  heart.  The  man  she  had  just  closed 
the  door  upon  had  paid  two  calls  on  successive 
days.  He  had  represented  himself  as  the  attorney 
for  her  brother,  held  on  a  charge  of  murder  at 
Belleville.  He  had  plausibly  persuaded  her  that  it 
was  only  fair  for  her  to  help  her  brother  in  his  dis 
tress;  that  he  was  the  victim  of  unfortunate  cir 
cumstances,  but  that  an  investment  of  one  thou- 

87 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

sand  dollars  for  his  defense  would  save  her  the 
humiliation  of  having  one  of  her  own  flesh  and 
blood  convicted  of  a  murder  for  which  he  was  in  no 
wise  responsible.  It  had  been  intimated  in  discreet 
terms  that  her  relationship  to  the  prisoner  could  be 
hidden;  it  would  even  be  denied  if  necessary. 

She  knew  now  that  she  should  not  have  yielded ; 
that  in  all  fairness  to  her  foster-father  she  should 
have  reported  this  demand  to  him.  In  secretly  giv 
ing  money  that  represented  Christmas  and  birthday 
gifts  through  half  a  dozen  years,  for  the  defense  of 
a  man  she  had  not  heard  of  since  the  beginning  of 
her  life  with  the  Parleys,  she  justified  herself  with 
the  thought  that  it  was  kinder  to  her  foster-father, 
in  his  invalid  condition,  to  keep  the  matter  from 
him.  She  experienced  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling 
the  moment  the  money  passed  from  her  hands  in 
the  ten  one-hundred-dollar  bills  the  man  had 
specified. 

Farley  had  been  seeing  much  of  his  lawyer  since 
the  row  over  the  Kinney  luncheon.  While  his 
wrath  at  her  duplicity  seemed  to  pass,  she  assumed 
that  he  had  not  forgotten  his  threat  to  disinherit 
her  if  she  married  Copeland. 

She  was  unwontedly  attentive,  spending  much 
time  reading  to  him  or  playing  cards.  She  knew 
that  he  liked  having  young  people  about,  and  she 
asked  to  his  room  some  of  the  girls  and  young  men 
who  called  on  her.  She  exercised  all  her  arts,  which 
were  many,  to  keep  him  cheerful,  and  if  he  realized 

88 


AN   ERROR  OF  JUDGMENT 

that  the  change  had  been  abrupt,  and  that  it  dated 
from  his  outburst  against  Copeland,  he  made  no 
sign.  She  mustn't  stay  in  too  much,  he  said;  he 
did  n't  want  to  be  a  burden  to  her. 

Eaton  had  called  shortly  after  his  talk  with  her 
on  the  golf  links,  but  on  a  night  when  Farley  was 
receiving  the  attentions  of  his  masseur.  He  had 
spent  the  evening  and  had  been  at  pains  to  make 
himself  agreeable.  Now  that  Copeland  had  been 
thrust  into  the  background,  it  occurred  to  her  that 
Eaton  was  worth  cultivating.  We  all  maintain  more 
or  less  consciously  a  mental  list  of  people  on  whom 
we  feel  that  we  may  rely  in  difficulties;  it  had  oc 
curred  to  Nan  that  in  a  pinch  Eaton  would  be  a 
friend  worth  having. 

While  it  was  wholly  unlikely  that  Farley  would 
ever  learn  of  her  transaction  with  the  stranger,  it 
was  nevertheless  a  possibility  that  would  hang  over 
her  as  long  as  he  lived.  She  sought  comfort  in  the 
reflection  that  the  amount  was  small,  and  that 
Farley  had  never  stinted  her;  moreover,  that  it  was 
her  own  money,  subject  to  her  personal  check;  but 
there  was  little  consolation  to  be  had  from  such 
reasoning.  She  must  talk  to  some  one,  and  before 
dinner  she  telephoned  Eaton  and  asked  him  to 
come  up. 

Farley  had  spent  two  hours  with  his  lawyer  that 
day,  and  from  the  fact  that  two  of  his  old  friends 
had  arrived  hurriedly  in  answer  to  telephonic 
summons,  she  judged  that  he  had  been  making 

89 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE  PUDDING 

a  new  will  and  that  these  men  had  been  called  to 
witness  it. 

He  ate  his  prescribed  supper,  grumbling  at  its 
slightness,  and  watched  her  consume  her  ampler 
meal  with  his  usual  expressions  of  envy  at  her 
appetite. 

"If  I  could  eat  like  that,  I'd  be  well  in  a  week; 
it's  all  rubbish,  this  infernal  diet!" 

"  But  we  tried  disobeying  the  doctor  the  other 
night  when  the  nurse  was  out,  and  you  did  n't  sleep 
a  wink.  You'll  have  to  be  good  until  the  doctor 
discharges  you!" 

"Don't  be  silly!"  he  snapped.  "They  know 
mighty  well  they  can't  cure  me;  they're  just 
hangin'  on  to  me  as  long  as  they  can  for  what  they 
get  out  of  it.  But  I  may  fool  'em  yet!  My  grand 
father  lived  to  be  ninety  and  died  then  from  bein' 
kicked  by  a  horse;  and  my  own  father  got  up  to 
seventy-eight,  and  that  gives  me  eight  years  more," 
he  ended  defiantly. 

"But  you  worked  harder  than  they  did,  papa; 
you  never  used  to  come  home  to  dinner  until 
seven." 

"Of  course  I  did  n't!"  he  flared.  "These  young 
fellows  that  think  four  hours  make  a  day's  work 
are  fools;  you  won't  see  them  gettin'  very  far  in  the 
world,  spendin'  their  time  flyin'  around  in  auto 
mobiles  and  playin'  golf  all  day!" 

"Well,  of  course,  some  of  the  young  men  don't 
amount  to  much,"  she  admitted  conciliatingly ; 

90 


AN  ERROR  OF  JUDGMENT 

"but  there  are  others  who  work  like  nailers.  I 
suppose  Mr.  Eaton  works  as  hard  as  any  man  in 
town;  and  he  does  n't  need  to." 

"Doesn't  need  to?"  Farley  caught  her  up. 
"Every  honest  man  works;  a  man  who  doesn't 
work  's  a  loafer  and  very  likely  a  blackguard.  John 
Eaton  works  because  he  has  the  brains  to  work 
with!  He's  a  rare  man,  John  Eaton.  There  ain't 
many  men  like  John,  brought  up  as  he  was,  with 
everything  easy;  but  he's  bucklin'  down  to  hard 
work  just  the  same,  like  the  man  he  is.  You  say  he 's 
comin'  up?  Well,  we'll  let  him  do  the  talkin'. 
Maybe  he  can  get  a  laugh  out  o'  me ;  he  says  some 
mighty  funny  things  —  and  they're  mostly  true." 

He  began  feeling  about  for  the  evening  paper  that 
he  had  dropped  at  his  side  when  his  tray  was 
brought  in. 

"Just  find  the  market  page  and  read  through  the 
local  stock  list.  I  noticed  they  've  put  a  new  figure 
on  White  River  Trust;  I  used  to  be  a  director  in 
that  company.  What's  that?  Two  hundred  eighty- 
five?  Let  me  see,  that's  fifteen  dollars  more  than  it 
was  last  January  when  I  bought  fifty  shares  at  two- 
seventy.  She  '11  go  three  hundred  in  five  years.  It 's 
the  safest  buy  in  town." 

His  long  conference  with  his  lawyer  had  left  him 
tired  and  irritable.  His  doctor  had  repeatedly 
counseled  Nan  and  the  nurse  to  keep  him  quiet. 
As  they  seemed  to  be  on  perfectly  safe  ground,  she 
began  reading  the  financial  comment  preceding  the 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

general  stock  and  bond  list,  and  finding  that  he  was 
interested,  she  followed  it  with  the  letter  of  a  firm 
of  brokers  that  buoyantly  prophesied  a  strong  up 
ward  movement  in  the  immediate  future.  She 
thought  he  was  listening  attentively  when  he  began 
murmuring  half  to  himself:  — 

"Two-eighty-five;  she's  bound  to  go  to  three 
hundred.  Hey?  What's  that  rubbish  you're 
readin'?  Wall  Street  letter?  What  do  I  care  what 
a  lot  of  infernal  gamblers  say  about  a  better  tone 
in  the  market!  Those  fellows  down  there  don't 
produce  anything;  it's  the  boys  out  here  that  grow 
the  corn  and  feed  the  pigs  that  put  value  in  the 
paper  those  fellows  down  there  gamble  in!  Put 
that  paper  down;  I  want  to  talk  a  little  business. 
How  much  money  you  got?" 

The  question  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face.  Her 
wits  danced  nimbly  in  her  effort  to  find  an  answer, 
to  decide  just  how  to  meet  the  issue. 

"Do  you  mean  the  housekeeping  money?"  she 
asked  faintly. 

Since  Mrs.  Farley's  death  she  had  paid  the  house 
hold  bills  from  a  sum  deposited  to  her  credit  the 
first  of  every  month.  Beyond  asking  occasionally 
how  the  bills  were  running,  Farley  had  never  ques 
tioned  her  as  to  her  expenditures.  There  was  a 
special  allowance  and  a  generous  one  for  her  cloth 
ing,  and  when  she  asked  for  additions  to  the  house 
hold  money  to  renew  linen  or  pay  for  repairs,  it  was 
always  readily  forthcoming. 

92 


AN  ERROR  OF  JUDGMENT 

"No,  no!"  he  ejaculated  impatiently.  "I  don't 
mean  the  house  money.  How  much  you  got  in  the 
trust  company  —  the  savings  you  Ve  been  gettin' 
three  per  cent  on?  You  must  have  over  two  thou 
sand  dollars  there.  I  been  meanin'  to  ask  you  about 
that;  you've  got  too  much  to  keep  at  three  per 
cent,  and  we  ought  to  put  it  into  securities  of  some 
kind.  Run  along  and  get  your  pass-book.  If  you 
have  n't  got  enough  to  buy  ten  shares  of  White 
River  Trust  stock,  I  '11  bring  it  up  a  little  so  you  can 
have  an  even  number." 

He  was  absorbed  in  mental  calculations  and  did 
not  notice  the  reluctance  with  which  she  rose  and 
walked  toward  her  room.  The  trust  company  re 
quired  that  books  be  presented  when  withdrawals 
were  made,  and  she  remembered  the  appearance 
of  the  teller's  notation.  Farley  had  never  looked  at 
her  pass-book  since  the  day  she  brought  it  home 
and  proudly  displayed  it.  It  was  the  unkindest  fate 
that  had  turned  his  mind  upon  it  at  this  juncture, 
and  she  canvassed  all  possible  explanations:  neces 
sary  expenditures  in  excess  of  her  household  and 
personal  accounts ;  unusual  repairs  which  she  might 
pretend  she  had  not  wanted  to  trouble  him  with  in 
his  illness ;  or  benevolences  —  the  latter,  she  fancied, 
more  likely  to  appease  than  the  others  in  view  of 
his  own  generosity  to  causes  that  appealed  to  him. 
She  decided  that  a  frank  confession  followed  by  an 
appeal  to  sentiment  was  the  likeliest  means  of  stay 
ing  his  anger. 

93 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

She  waited  twisting  her  hands  nervously,  while 
he  examined  the  book. 

"What's  this?  What's  this  mean,  Nan?  You 
took  out  a  thousand  dollars  in  one  lump  —  to-day ! 
My  God,  what  does  this  mean?  What  kind  of  in 
vestments  you  makin',  Nan?  Yesterday  you  had 
with  interest  —  lemme  see  —  twenty-six  hundred 
dollars,  and  now  you've  cut  it  down  to  sixteen 
hundred!  What  you  spendin'  that  money  for, 
girl?" 

"Well,  papa,"  she  began  with  the  best  air  of 
frankness  she  could  summon,  "something  very 
strange  and  sad  has  happened.  I  meant  to  tell  you 
all  about  it  just  as  soon  as  you  were  stronger,  but 
I'm  glad  to  tell  you  now,  for  I  know  you  will  un 
derstand  and  sympathize  —  as  you  Ve  always  done 
whenever  I  Ve  had  my  little  troubles  - 

He  seemed  to  be  taking  this  in  good  part  until 
"troubles"  caused  him  to  sniff. 

"Troubles!  What  troubles  you  ever  had?  I 
guess  there  ain't  a  girl  in  town  that's  had  less 
trouble  than  you  have!" 

"Of  course,  I  did  n't  mean  it  that  way,  papa;  I 
mean  only  the  little  things,  little  mistakes  and  slips 
I  Ve  made  that  you  and  mamma  have  always  been 
kind  about.  No  girl  was  ever  treated  as  kindly  as 
you  have  treated  me.  And  I  mean  always  to  be 
perfectly  frank  with  you;  and  I'm  going  to  be 
now." 

"Well,"  he  said  impatiently. 

94 


AN  ERROR  OF  JUDGMENT 

She  felt  that  her  contemplated  explanation  had 
been  well  chosen,  but  she  must  be  adroit,  risking  no 
word  that  might  spoil  the  effect  of  her  disclosure. 

She  knelt  beside  him  and  began  in  a  tone  that 
was  eloquent  of  humility,  yet  with  a  confidence 
that  she  hoped  would  not  be  lost  upon  him. 

"You  see,  papa,  when  you  brought  me  home 
with  you,  and  you  and  mamma  began  caring  for 
me,  I  was  just  a  poor  little  waif,  ready  for  an  orphan 
asylum.  My  father  and  mother  would  never  have 
been  able  to  do  anything  for  me  if  they  had  lived ; 
and  if  it  had  n't  been  for  you  and  mamma,  I  'd  never 
have  known  any  of  the  things  I  've  learned  through 
you.  I  might  have  been  a  dining-room  girl  right 
now  in  some  cheap  hotel  if  you  had  n't  opened  your 
doors  and  your  hearts  to  me.  And  that  has  made 
me  appreciate  my  blessings  —  all  the  comforts  and 
luxuries  you  have  given  me.  And  it  has  made  me 
feel,  more  than  you  may  imagine,  for  people  not  so 
lucky  as  I  am  —  the  under  dog  that  gets  kicked  by 
everybody.  And  even  when  people  are  wicked  and 
do  evil  things,  I  think  we  ought  to  think  kindly  of 
them  and  help  them  when  we  can.  I  know  you 
and  mamma  always  practiced  that.  And  I  Ve  tried 
to;  I  really  have!" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  there  were  tears  in  them, 
that  seemed  to  be  born  of  a  deep  compassion,  a 
yearning  toward  all  the  poor  and  erring  among 
mankind.  Farley  was  not  unmoved  by  this  demon 
stration  ;  he  shifted  his  legs  uneasily  under  the  light 

95 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

pressure  of  her  arms.  Her  spell  upon  him  had  never 
been  more  complete;  she  felt  that  she  might  risk 
much  in  the  mood  to  which  she  had  brought  him. 

"And  you  know,  papa,  I  have  thought  a  great 
deal  about  my  brother  —  who  drifted  away  with 
the  flood.  I  have  n't  seen  him  since  father  and 
mother  died.  Tom  is  much  older  than  I  am,  and  the 
poor  boy  never  had  any  chance.  I  had  n't  even 
heard  of  him  since  you  brought  me  away  until  the 
other  day.  And  he's  in  trouble,  very  deep,  serious 
trouble,  papa;  he's  been  arrested  —  I'm  sure  not 
for  anything  he  really  did ;  but  being  poor  and  with 
out  friends  it  was  perfectly  natural  for  him  to  ask 
me  to  help  him.  I  think  you  will  agree  to  that. 
And  he  sent  his  lawyer  to  ask  me  for  money  to  use 
in  defending  him.  I  meant  to  tell  you  all  about  it 
when  you  were  well;  I  felt  sure  I  was  doing  right 
and  that  you  'd  be  glad  to  have  me  help  him ;  and 
it's  all  so  horrible  — " 

She  felt  his  form  grow  rigid,  felt  his  hands 
roughly  push  her  away,  as  he  blurted  hoarsely:  - 

"Blackmail!  My  God,  it's  blackmail—  or  else 
you're  lyin'  to  me!" 

She  rose  and  faced  him  tearfully. 

"It's  the  truth!"  she  declared.  "He's  my 
brother  —  the  only  one  of  my  family  that 's  left. 
You  would  n't  have  me  refuse  to  help  — " 

"Help  him!  Turn  a  thousand  dollars  of  your 
savings  over  to  a  worthless  whelp  that's  got  into 
jail!  How  do  you  know  he's  your  brother?  —  a 

96 


AN   ERROR  OF  JUDGMENT 

man  that  waits  all  these  years  before  he  shows 
himself  and  then  plumps  down  on  you  for  a 
thousand  dollars!  I  tell  you  it's  blackmail,  black 
mail  !  And  you  hide  all  this  from  me  just  as  though 
I  had  n't  any  right  to  know  what  kind  o'  trouble 
you  get  mixed  up  in!  Ain't  you  got  sense  enough  to 
know  you're  touchin'  bottom  when  you  give  up 
money  that  way?  What's  he  threatened  you  with? 
You  tell  me  everything  there  is  to  know  about  this, 
and  I  '11  find  out  mighty  quick  whether  a  con 
temptible  scoundrel  can  come  to  my  house  and 
carry  away  a  thousand  dollars!" 

Farley  glared  at  her  unpityingly  while  she  told 
her  story,  which  seemed  preposterously  weak  when 
reduced  to  plain  terms.  She  sobbingly  admitted 
her  fear  of  newspaper  notoriety,  her  wish  to  shield 
him  from  the  shame  of  her  connection  with  a  man 
awaiting  trial  for  murder.  There  was  no  mercy  in 
his  eyes;  he  was  outraged  that  she  had  again  de 
ceived  him. 

"Afraid  o'  havin'  your  name  in  the  papers,  were 
you?  Just  as  though  blackmailers  did  n't  always 
use  that  club  on  the  fools  they  rob!  And  how  many 
times  do  you  think  a  man  like  that  will  come  back, 
now  he  knows  you  're  easy  —  now  you  've  gone  into 
business  with  him?" 

The  maid  knocked  at  the  door  and  announced 
Eaton,,  but  Farley  gave  no  heed. 

"Payin'  blackmail!  You've  got  yourself  into  a 
nice  mess!  And  after  all  I've  done  to  protect  you 

97 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

and  make  a  decent  woman  of  you,  you  're  scared  to 
death  of  havin'  some  of  your  relations  go  to  jail  — 
just  as  though  you  had  n't  turned  your  back  on  the 
whole  set  when  we  brought  you  here  and  gave  you 
our  name.  That  ought  to  have  made  you  respect 
able,  if  it  did  n't!  Afraid  of  newspapers,  afraid  of 
jackleg  lawyers!  It's  the  rottenest  case  of  black 
mail  I  ever  heard !  And  here  I  've  been  proud  to 
think  that  we'd  pulled  you  out  of  the  river  mud 
and  made  a  high-minded  woman  of  you,  that  could 
stand  up  with  any  girl  anywhere!" 

She  waited  listening  to  his  deep  breaths,  watch 
ing  his  tremulous  hands;  and  then  without  at 
tempting  to  answer  his  indictment,  she  said 
meekly :  - 

"Of  course,  it  was  a  mistake,  papa.  I  ought  to 
have  told  you  about  it;  but  it's  my  trouble  — you 
must  remember  that!  The  shame  of  the  exposure 
would  be  something  I  'd  have  to  bear  alone ;  that 
was  the  way  I  looked  at  it;  and  I  did  n't  want  you 
to  have  the  worry  of  it  when  you  were  just  begin 
ning  to  get  well." 

His  thoughts  had  wandered  away  from  her, 
playing  about  her  offense  in  its  practical  and  legal 
aspects.  When  she  ventured  to  remind  him  of 
Eaton's  presence  in  the  house,  he  made  no  reply. 
The  silence  became  intolerable  and  she  stole  from 
the  room. 


CHAPTER   VII 

WELCOME   CALLERS 

NAN  decided  to  explain  to  Eaton  that  Farley's 
illness  had  taken  a  turn  for  the  worse  and  that  he 
had  been  abusing  her  as  a  relief  from  his  suffering. 
She  was  surprised  to -find  tjvo  men  in  ^ the: -parlor, 
the  second  of  whom  she  did  not  at  once  recognize  as 
Jerry.  ;.;:  ;::>',  •;'•  ri'ii.'/^i-; 

"I've  taken  the  liberty,1  Eaton  began,  "of 
bringing  Mr.  Amidon  along.  Thought  you  would 
n't  mind,  particularly  as  I  could  n't  have  come  my 
self  without  him.  He  dropped  in  just  as  I  was 
leaving  and  seemed  greatly  depressed;  I  had  n't  the 
heart  to  leave  him.  Depression  is  his  normal  state 
-  no  serenity,  no  hope,  no  vision!" 

Amidon  grinned  during  this  explanation,  realiz 
ing  that  its  lack  of  veracity  was,  in  the  circum 
stances,  peculiarly  Eatonesque  and  attributable  to 
his  friend's  wish  to  relieve  Nan  of  embarrassment. 
They  had  been  uncomfortable  from  the  moment 
the  maid  admitted  them  and  they  became  con 
scious  of  the  discord  above.  Words  and  phrases  of 
Farley's  furious  arraignment  had  reached  them  and 
there  was  no  escaping  the  conclusion  that  she  had 
been  the  object  of  the  castigation.  Jerry,  acting 
on  his  own  impulses,  would  have  grabbed  his  hat 

99 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

and  bolted.  It  was  only  the  demeanor  of  his  idol, 
placidly  staring  at  the  wall,  that  held  him  back. 
The  call  had  been  suggested  by  Eaton  as  a  gay  so 
cial  adventure,  but  it  was  disconcerting  to  find  a 
girl  whose  good  fortune  had  seemed  so  enviable 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  nervously  fingering  a  moist 
handkerchief,  and  Jerry's  wits  were  severely  taxed 
by  his  efforts  to  meet  a  situation  without  precedent 
in  his  experience.  Once  he  had  called  on  a  girl  whose 
fath.ef,; earner  home  drunk,  and  manifested  an  ambi 
tion  to  destroy  the  furniture  and  use  the  pieces  in 
the'chLsiJsement  o£  his.  daughter,  and  Amidon  had 
enjoyed  a  brief,  decisive  engagement  with  the  ine 
briated  parent  and  had  then  put  him  to  bed.  But 
there  was  nothing  in  that  incident  that  bore  in  the 
slightest  degree  upon  the  difficulties  of  people  who 
lived  in  the  best  street  in  town,  where,  he  had  al 
ways  assumed,  the  prosperous  householders  dwelt  in 
peace  and  harmony  with  their  fortunate  families. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  both  of  you,"  she  said, 
with  all  the  assurance  she  could  muster.  "Papa's 
been  having  a  bad  time ;  you  must  have  heard  him 
talking.  He's  very  angry.  I  wish  you'd  go  up, 
Mr.  Eaton,  and  see  if  you  can't  talk  him  into  a 
better  humor." 

"If  you  think  it's  all  right — "  Eaton  began 
dubiously;  but  he  was  amused  at  Nan's  cheerful 
willingness  to  turn  her  angry  foster-parent  over  to 
him  for  pacification.  It  was  like  Nan! 

"Oh,  he'd  been  looking  forward  to  seeing  you," 

100 


WELCOME  CALLERS 

she  answered  quite  honestly.  "These  spells  don't 
last  long;  the  very  sight  of  you  will  cheer  him." 

She  did  not,  however,  offer  to  accompany  him  to 
Farley's  room,  but  discreetly  left  him  to  test  the 
atmosphere  for  himself. 

"  Well,"  Jerry  remarked,  when  he  was  alone  with 
Nan,  "  Pittsburg  put  it  over  on  New  York  to-day. 
Three  to  nothing!" 

He  gave  the  score  with  a  jubilant  turn  to  the 
"nothing,"  as  though  Pittsburgh  success  called  for 
universal  rejoicing. 

Nan,  intent  upon  catching  some  hint  of  the  na 
ture  of  Eaton's  reception,  merely  murmured  her 
mild  pleasure  in  this  news.  She  was  satisfied,  from 
the  calm  that  reigned  above,  that  Eaton  had  begun 
well,  and  that  under  the  spell  of  his  presence  Farley 
would  soon  be  restored  to  tranquillity. 

"Sorry  Mr.  Farley  is  having  a  bad  time,"  Jerry 
went  on,  thinking  the  invalid's  outbreak  required 
at  least  a  passing  reference.  "You  know  down  at 
the  store  the  boys  still  talk  about  him.  Somebody's 
always  telling  how  he  used  to  do  things,  and  the 
funny  things  he  used  to  say.  When  I  first  struck 
the  plant,  he  used  to  scare  me  to  death,  sticking 
his  nose  in  the  shipping-room  without  notice  and 
catching  the  boys  larking.  Once  I  had  gone  to  the 
mat  with  a  plumber  that  was  looking  for  a  gas- 
leak,  and  the  boss  came  in  and  got  us  both  by  the 
collar  and  threw  us  down  the  stairs  like  a  pair  of 
old  shoes.  I  thought  I  was  a  goner  for  sure  when  he 

101 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

sent  for  me  to  come  to  the  office  that  night  and 
asked  me  who  started  the  trouble.  I  told  him  the 
plumber  said  whenever  he  found  gas-leaks  in  job 
bing  houses  he  always  reckoned  somebody  was  get 
ting  ready  to  collect  the  insurance.  Uncle  Tim  — 
that's  what  the  boys  call  him  —  asked  me  if  I  'd  hit 
him  hard,  and  I  told  him  I  guess  he'd  have  consid 
erable  business  with  the  dentist,  all  right.  Just  for 
that  he  raised  my  wages  a  dollar  a  week !  Say,  can 
you  beat  it!" 

He  snapped  his  fingers  and  shook  his  head  im 
patiently. 

"  Is  n't  that  rank  —  just  after  Cecil  lectured  me 
all  the  way  up  here  about  cutting  out  slang!  I 
promised  him  solemnly  before  we  started  that  I 
would  n't  say  say;  and  here  I  Ve  already  done  it ! 
How  do  you  learn  to  talk  like  white  folks,  anyhow? 
I  suppose  you  got  to  be  born  to  it;  it  must  be  like 
swimming  or  rowing  a  boat,  that  you  learn  once  and 
always  catch  the  stroke  right." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  worry  about  that,"  replied 
Nan  consolingly.  "I  use  a  good  deal  of  slang 
myself;  and  at  school  my  English  teacher  said 
it  was  n't  such  a  sin  if  we  used  it  as  though  we 
were  quoting  —  we  girls  held  up  two  fingers  — 
so!" 

"That  sounds  reasonable,  all  right;  I  must  tell 
my  noble  knight  about  that.  It  seems  sometimes 
as  though  I  just  could  n't  get  a  ball  over  the  plate 
—  there  I  go  again !  And  Cecil  warned  me  specially 

102 


WELCOME  CALLERS 

against  talking  like  a  bleacher  hoodlum  when  we 
got  here." 

"Oh,  that's  not  worth  bothering  about.  I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you  that  I  could  cry  for  joy.  If  you 
had  n't  come  when  you  did,  I  don't  know  what 
might  have  happened." 

He  had  been  trying  to  direct  the  talk  into  other 
channels,  and  her  remark  puzzled  him.  That  this 
wholly  charming,  delightful  Nan  could  have  given 
her  benefactor  cause  for  the  objurgations  he  had 
heard  poured  out  upon  her  was  unbelievable.  Still, 
it  was  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise  to  find  that 
she  was  human,  capable  of  tears,  and  it  was  not 
less  than  flattering  that  she  should  invite  his 
sympathy. 

"Well,"  he  began  cautiously,  "  I  guess  we  all  have 
our  troubles.  Life  ain't  such  an  easy  game.  You 
think  you're  sailing  along  all  right,  and  suddenly 
something  goes  wrong  and  you  Ve  got  to  climb  out 
and  study  astronomy  through  the  bottom  of  the 
machine.  Why,"  he  continued  expansively,  finding 
that  he  had  her  attention,  "when  I  first  went  on  the 
road  I  used  to  get  hot  when  I  struck  some  mutt 
who  pulled  lower  prices  on  me  or  said  he  was  over 
stocked.  But  you  don't  sell  any  goods  by  getting 
mad.  I  picked  up  one  of  these  'Keep  Smiling' 
cards  somewhere,  and  when  I  got  blue  I  used  to 
take  a  sneaking  look  at  it  and  put  on  a  grin  and  tell 
the  stony-hearted  merchant  the  funniest  story  I 
could  think  of  and  prove  that  our  figures  f.o.b. 

103 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Peanutville  were  cheaper,  when  you  figured  in  the 
freight,  than  Chicago  or  Cincinnati  prices.  I've 
made  a  study  of  freight  tariffs;  I  can  tell  you  the 
freight  on  white  elephants  all  the  way  from  Siam  to 
Keokuk  and  back  to  Bangkok.  I  Ve  heard  the  old 
boys  down  at  the  store  talk  about  Farley  till  I  know 
all  his  curves.  Farley's  all  right;  there's  nothing 
the  matter  with  Uncle  Tim ;  only  —  you  don't  want 
to  shift  gears  on  him  too  quick.  You  Ve  got  to  do 
it  gentle-like." 

Nan  smiled  forlornly,  but  Amidon  was  glad  that 
he  could  evoke  any  sort  of  smile  from  her. 

"It  was  all  my  fault,"  she  said.  And  then  with 
a  frankness  that  surprised  her  she  added:  "I  had 
deceived  him  about  something  and  he  caught  me 
at  it.  He  gave  me  a  big  blowing-up,  and  I  de 
served  it." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  say  that;  but,  of  course, 
playing  the  game  straight  was  always  a  big  card 
with  him.  I  guess  Cecil  will  smooth  him  down." 

She  was  surprised  to  find  herself  talking  to  him 
so  freely ;  his  eagerness  to  take  her  mind  away  from 
the  unpleasant  episode  with  Farley  gave  her  a  com 
forting  sense  of  his  native  kindliness.  Her  heart 
warmed  with  liking  for  him  as  she  reappraised  his 
good  looks,  his  well-scrubbed  appearance  of  a  boy 
turned  out  for  his  first  party  by  a  doting  mother; 
his  general  air  of  wholesomeness  and  good  humor. 
He  had  known  hard  knocks,  she  did  not  question, 
but  the  bruises  were  well  hidden.  With  all  his 

104 


WELCOME  CALLERS 

slanginess  and  volubility  there  was  a  certain  high- 
mindedness  about  him  to  which,  in  her  hunger  for 
sympathy,  she  gave  fullest  value. 

He  was  afraid  of  her  further  confidences;  afraid 
that  she  would  disclose  something  she  would  regret 
later,  and  this  he  foresaw  might  embarrass  their 
subsequent  relations.  She  had  been  humiliated  by 
Farley's  abuse,  and  it  was  not  fair,  he  argued,  to 
take  advantage  of  her  present  state  of  mind  by 
allowing  her  to  tell  more  of  the  trouble.  But  he 
was  not  able  at  once  to  change  the  current  of  her 
thoughts. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  sitting  up  straight  and 
folding  her  hands  on  her  knees,  "  I  Ve  been  thinking 
a  lot  of  things  since  I  saw  you  out  there  by  the  river 
—  about  old  times,  and  wondering  whether  it  was 
good  or  bad  luck  that  took  me  away  from  Belleville 
and  brought  me  up  here.  I  'd  have  been  better  off  if 
I  'd  stayed  there.  I  'd  probably  have  been  washing 
dishes  in  the  Belleville  hotel  if  the  Parleys  had  n't 
picked  me  up,  a  dirty  little  beggar,  and  tried  to 
make  something  decent  out  of  me!  I'm  saying 
that  to  you  because  you  know  all  about  me.  You  Ve 
made  your  own  way,  and  you  're  a  lot  happier  than 
I  am,  and  you  're  not  under  obligations  to  anybody; 
and  here  I  am  trying  to  climb  a  ladder  my  feet 
were  n't  made  for!" 

"Cut  all  that  out!"  he  expostulated.  "Just  be 
cause  Uncle  Tim 's  been  a  little  fretful,  you  need  n't 
think  everything 's  gone  to  the  bow-wows.  And  as 

105 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

for  staying  in  Belleville,  why,  the  thought  of  it 
gives  me  shivers!  There  ain't  any  use  talking  about 
that." 

Her  face  expressed  relief  at  the  vigor  with  which 
he  sprang  to  her  defense,  and  he  plunged  ahead. 

"Say,  speaking  of  dining-room  girls,  there  was  a 
girl  at  that  Belleville  hotel  that  was  some  girl  for 
sure.  She  was  fruit  to  the  passing  eye,  and  a  mutt 
carrying  samples  for  a  confectionery  house  called 
her  Gladys  one  day,  her  real  name  being  Sarah,  and 
asked  her  how  she  'd  like  going  to  the  movies  with 
him  after  she  got  the  dishes  washed;  and  she 
landed  one  order  of  poached  cold-storage  eggs  on 
his  bosom  the  neatest  you  ever  saw.  Some  men 
never  learn  how  to  size  up  character,  and  any  fool 
could  'a'  told  that  that  girl  was  n't  open  to  a  jolly 
from  a  sweet-goods  peddler  who'd  never  passed 
that  way  before.  Sarah's  mother  owns  the  hotel, 
and  Sarah  only  helps  in  the  dining-room  Saturday 
nights  to  let  the  regular  crockery-smasher  off  to 
punch  the  ivories  for  the  Methodist  choir  practice. 
I  was  sitting  next  that  chap  and  he  thought  he'd 
show  me  what  a  winner  he  was.  I  'm  not  justifying 
Sarah's  conduct,  and  about  a  half-portion  of  the 
golden  side  of  that  order  caught  me  on  the  ear.  I 
merely  mention  it  to  show  you  that  you  had  better 
not  think  much  of  the  life  of  the  dining-room  girl, 
which  ain't  all  the  handbills  make  out." 

"  I  hope,"  remarked  Nan,  "that  she  did  n't  break 
the  plate!" 

106 


WELCOME  CALLERS 

"No  more,"  he  came  back  promptly,  "than  you 
could  break  a  ten-dollar  bill  at  a  charity  fair. 
That's  another  thing  I  learned  from  Cecil.  He  got 
me  to  take  a  stroll  with  him  through  a  charity 
bazaar  last  winter  —  just  to  protect  him  from  the 
snares  of  the  huntress,  he  said.  He  started  in  with 
ten  tens  and  had  to  borrow  five  I  was  hiding  from 
my  creditors  before  we  got  back  to  the  door.  And 
all  we  carried  out  of  the  place  was  a  pink  party-bag 
Cecil  handed  a  tramp  we  found  freezing  to  death 
outside  and  hoping  a  little  charity  would  ooze 
through  the  windows." 

"I  was  at  the  fancy-work  counter  at  the  fair," 
said  Nan,  "and  I  remember  that  Mr.  Eaton  bought 
something.  I  did  n't  see  you,  though." 

"I  noticed  that  you  did  n't;  I  was  plumb  scared 
you  might!  There  I  go  again!  Plumb  scared!  Oh, 
Cecil,  if  you  had  heard  me  then!  ' 

He  was  wondering  just  how  he  happened  to  be 
sitting  in  a  parlor  on  a  fashionable  street,  talking  to 
the  only  girl  he  had  ever  known  whose  name  figured 
in  the  society  columns,  quite  as  jauntily  as  he  talked 
with  any  of  the  stenographers  or  salesgirls  he  knew. 
He  was  confident  that  parlor  conversation  among 
the  favored  of  heaven  was  not  of  the  sort  he  had,  in 
his  own  phrase,  been  "handing  out."  This  thought 
gave  him  pause.  He  shook  his  cuffs  from  under  the 
sleeves  of  his  blue  serge  coat  with  a  gesture  he  had 
caught  from  Eaton,  and  felt  nervously  of  the  knot 
of  his  four-in-hand. 

107 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Nan  was  asking  herself  whether  the  fact  that  a 
young  fellow  of  Amidon's  deficiencies  could  inter 
est  and  amuse  her  was  n't  pretty  substantial  proof 
that  he  was  the  kind  of  young  man  the  gods  had 
designed  for  her  companions.  A  year  ago  she  would 
have  resented  his  appearance  in  the  house ;  to-night 
she  had  a  feeling  that  his  right  to  be  there  was  as 
sound  as  her  own.  A  different  fling  of  the  dice,  and 
it  might  have  been  he  whom  the  Parleys  rescued 
from  poverty  and  obscurity. 

In  spite  of  his  absurdities,  she  was  conscious  of 
definite  manly  qualities  in  him.  Several  times  she 
caught  him  scrutinizing  her  sharply,  as  though 
something  about  her  puzzled  him  and  gave  him  con 
cern.  His  manners  were  very  good  —  thanks,  per 
haps,  to  his  adored  Eaton ;  and  she  liked  his  clean, 
fresh  look  and  good  humor.  After  her  talk  with 
Eaton  on  the  golf  links,  she  had  wondered  whether 
the  lawyer  was  n't  making  a  butt  of  him ;  but  she 
dismissed  this  now  as  unjust  to  Eaton,  and  as  ap 
praising  Amidon's  intelligence  at  too  low  a  figure. 
During  this  reverie  he  waited  patiently  for  her  to 
speak,  imagining  that  her  mind  was  still  upon  her 
troubles,  and  when  the  silence  became  prolonged 
he  rallied  for  a  fresh  attack. 

"If  you'd  rather  read,"  he  remarked,  "we'll 
hang  up  the  silence  sign  the  way  they  have  it  in  the 
library  reading-room  and  I  '11  say  prayers  till  Cecil 
comes  down." 

"Oh,  pardon  me!"  she  laughed  contritely.  "  You 
108 


WELCOME  CALLERS 

see  I  am  treating  you  as  an  old  friend.  Why  don't 
you  go  on  and  talk.  You  've  had  ever  so  many  in 
teresting  adventures,  and  I  need  to  be  amused. 
Please  don't  think  I'm  always  like  this;  I  hope 
you'll  see  me  some  time  when  I'm  not  in  the 
dumps." 

"I  should  be  afraid  to,"  he  retorted  boldly;  and 
then  feeling  that  Eaton  would  have  spurned  such 
banality,  ejaculated:  "Oh,  rot!  Let  me  scratch  that 
out  and  say  something  decent.  Just  for  instance," 
-and  his  face  sobered,  —  "I  think  you're  nice! 
You  were  perfectly  grand  to  me  that  day  down  on 
the  river.  I  told  Cecil  about  that,  and  I  could  see 
it  made  a  hit  with  him ;  it  set  me  up  with  him  — 
that  a  girl  like  you  would  be  polite  to  a  scrub 
like  me." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,"  she  said.  "  I  'm  not  proud  of 
myself:  I'm  a  failure,  a  pretty  sad  fizzle,  at  that." 

She  ignored  his  rapid  phrases  of  protest  and 
asked  him  how  much  time  he  spent  in  town. 

"Well,  I  'm  likely  to  spend  a  good  deal,  from  now 
on.  The  boss  has  been  shaking  things  up  again,  and 
he  called  me  in  by  telephone  yesterday  and  changed 
my  job.  That's  the  way  with  him;  he  won't  show 
up  sometimes  for  six  weeks,  and  then  he  gets  down 
early  some  morning  and  scares  everybody  to  death. 

"  I  thought  I  was  settled  on  the  road  for  the  rest 
of  my  life,  and  now  he's  made  a  job  for  me  to  help 
the  credit  man  —  who  does  n't  want  me  —  and 
take  country  customers  out  to  lunch.  A  new  job 

109 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

made  just  for  my  benefit.  And  all  because  of  a 
necktie  Cecil  gave  me.  The  boss  saw  me  sporting 
it  one  day  and  asked  me  where  I  got  it.  I  had  to 
make  a  show-down,  and  he  thought  I  was  kidding 
him.  You  see  Cecil's  about  the  last  man  he'd  ever 
think  of  giving  me  presents.  If  I  'd  laid  that  neck 
tie  on  any  other  living  human  being,  it  would  n't 
have  cut  a  bit  of  ice;  but  when  I  said,  as  fresh  as 
paint,  'John  Cecil  Eaton  picked  that  up  in  New 
York  for  me,'  he  laughed  right  out  loud.  'What's 
the  joke?'  I  asked  him;  and  he  says,  'Oh,  Eaton 
never  gave  me  any  haberdashery,  and  I  've  known 
him  all  my  life.'  And  like  the  silly  young  zebra  I 
am,  I  came  back  with,  'Well,  maybe  that's  the 
reason ! '  You  'd  have  thought  he  'd  fire  me  for  that ; 
but  it  seemed  to  sort  o'  make  us  better  acquainted. 
He's  the  prince,  all  right!" 

She  had  been  trying,  more  or  less  honestly,  to 
put  Copeland  out  of  her  mind.  Her  knowledge  of 
him  as  a  business  man  had  been  the  haziest;  one 
never  thought  of  Billy  Copeland  as  a  person  pre 
occupied  with  business.  She  was  startled  when 
Amidon  asked  abruptly:  — 

"Of  course,  you  know  the  boss?" 

It  was  possible  that  Amidon  had  heard  the  gossip 
that  connected  her  name  with  his  employer's,  and 
she  answered  carelessly :  - 

14 Oh,  yes;  I  know  Mr.  Copeland." 

"I  guess  everybody  knows  William  B.,"  said 
Amidon.  "He's  got  the  pep  —  unadulterated  cay- 

no 


WELCOME  CALLERS 

enne;  he  is  n't  one  of  these  corpses  that  are  holding 
the  town  back.  He's  a  live  wire,  all  right." 

Then,  realizing  that  he  had  ventured  upon  thin 
ice  in  mentioning  Copeland,  he  came  back  to  shore 
at  once. 

"Cecil  said  that  this  being  my  first  call,  about 
thirty  minutes  would  do  for  me,  so  I  guess  it's  time 
for  me  to  skid.  He  must  be  handing  out  a  pretty 
good  line  of  talk  on  the  upper  deck." 

She  begged  him  not  to  leave  her  alone,  saying 
that  Farley  lived  by  rules  fixed  by  his  doctor  and 
that  the  nurse  was  likely  to  interrupt  the  call  at 
any  minute.  As  he  stood  uncertain  whether  to  go 
or  wait  for  Eaton,  they  heard  the  lawyer  saying 
good-bye,  and  in  a  moment  he  came  down. 

Nan  looked  at  him  quickly,  but  was  able  to  read 
nothing  in  his  impassive  face. 

"I  hope  you  two  have  been  getting  better  ac 
quainted,"  Eaton  remarked.  "Mr.  Farley  and  I 
have  had  a  splendid  talk;  I  never  found  him  more 
amusing.  One  of  the  most  interesting  men  I  ever 
knew!  What  have  you  been  talking  about?  The 
silence  down  here  has  been  ominously  painful!" 

"Mr.  Amidon  has  been  telling  me  of  the  egg- 
throwing  habits  of  the  waitresses  in  my  native  town. 
Life  here  in  the  city  is  nothing  to  what  it  is  down 
on  the  river.  He's  almost  made  me  homesick!" 

"My  dear  Amidon,"  said  Eaton  severely,  "have 
you  been  telling  that  story  —  in  a  private  house? 
I  thought  when  I  brought  you  here  you'd  be  on 

in 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

your  good  behavior.  I  'm  sorry,  Nan ;  I  apologize 
for  him.  Of  course,  he  must  n't  come  back;  I '11  see 
to  it  that  he  does  n't." 

"Don't  be  cruel!"  laughed  Nan.  "We  got  on 
beautifully!" 

They  heard  Farley's  groans  and  mutterings  as 
the  nurse  put  him  to  bed,  and  it  seemed  necessary 
to  refer  to  him  again  before  the  men  left. 

"You  won't  mind,  Nan,"  said  Eaton,  "if  I  say 
that  Mr.  Farley  told  me  the  cause  of  your  little 
difficulty;  I  know  the  whole  story.  I  think  he  prob 
ably  won't  mention  it  to  you  again.  I  asked  him 
not  to.  Just  go  on  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
It  was  unfortunate,  of  course;  but  I've  persuaded 
him  that  your  conduct  is  pardonable  —  really  quite 
admirable  from  your  standpoint.  If  anything 
further  arises  in  regard  to  it,  I  wish  you'd  com 
municate  with  me,  immediately." 

Ignoring  her  murmurs  of  gratitude,  he  turned  to 
Jerry. 

"Amidon,  at  this  point  we  shake  hands  and 
move  rapidly  up  the  street.  And,  Nan,  you  need  n't 
be  troubled  because  Mr.  Amidon  heard  the  last 
echoes  of  your  difficulty.  He 's  perfectly  safe,  - 
discreet,  wise,  —  though  you  'd  never  guess  it.  You 
may  safely  assume  that  he  heard  nothing.  We  must 
have  some  golf,  you  and  I.  My  game 'scorning  up!" 

She  went  with  them  to  the  street  door,  where 
Amidon,  in  executing  a  final  bow,  nearly  fell  back 
ward  down  the  steps. 


CHAPTER   VIII 
MRS.  COPELAND' s  GOOD  FORTUNE 

Now  that  they  had  the  car,  Farley  insisted  that 
Nan  should  go  to  market.  His  wife,  like  all  the 
thrifty  housewives  of  the  capital,  had  always  gone 
to  market,  and  he  thought  the  discipline  would  be 
good  for  Nan.  He  liked  to  accompany  her  and 
watch  the  crowd  while  she  was  doing  her  errands. 

One  Saturday,  as  Nan  returned  to  the  machine, 
with  the  chauffeur  following  with  the  basket,  she 
found  Fanny  Copeland  seated  in  the  car  beside 
Farley. 

"Look  here,  Nan;  I've  picked  up  a  surprise  for 
you!  We're  goin'  to  take  Mrs.  Copeland  home  to 
lunch." 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  are  or  not,"  said 
Mrs.  Copeland.  "This  is  my  busiest  day  and  I  Ve 
got  to  catch  the  twelve-o'clock  interurban  for  the 
farm." 

"Don't  worry  about  that;  we'll  send  you  home 
all  right,"  said  Farley. 

"Then  I'm  not  going  to  have  anything  to  say 
about  it  at  all!"  laughed  Mrs.  Copeland.  "All  right; 
if  my  cows  die  of  thirst,  I'll  send  you  the  bill." 

"You  do  that,  and  it  will  be  paid,"  Farley  as 
sented  cheerfully. 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

11  But  I  Ve  got  to  stop  at  the  bank  a  moment  — 

"I  suppose,"  said  Nan,  "you  want  to  get  rid  of 
the  money  I  just  paid  at  your  stand  for  two  yellow- 
legged  chickens  —  you  can  see  the  legs  sticking  out 
of  the  basket." 

Mrs.  Copeland  had  failed  to  act  upon  Nan's  in 
vitation  to  call  upon  her  —  a  delinquency  to  which 
she  referred  now. 

"  I  really  meant  to  come,  but  I  've  been  unusually 
busy.  I  carry  on  just  enough  general  farming  to  be 
a  nuisance ;  and  dairying  requires  eternal  vigilance." 

"That's  because  you've  got  a  standard,"  said 
Farley,  with  his  blunt  praise.  "You  've  got  the  best 
dairy  in  Indiana.  The  state  inspectors  have  put  it 
strong." 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland  lightly,  "they  gave 
me  a  better  report  than  I  deserve  just  for  being  a 
poor,  lone  woman!" 

Farley's  admiration  for  Mrs.  Copeland  was  per 
fectly  transparent.  It  was  Fanny's  efficiency,  her 
general  competence,  Nan  reflected,  quite  as  much 
as  her  good  looks  and  cheerfulness,  that  attracted 
her  foster-father.  Several  times  lately  he  had 
quoted  what  Bill  Harrington,  the  banker,  had  said 
of  her  —  that  she  was  the  best  business  man  in 
town.  And  there  was  also  Farley's  contempt  for 
Copeland,  which  clearly  accentuated  his  liking  for 
Billy's  former  wife. 

At  the  bank  door  Farley  remembered  that  he  had 
a  check  to  cash  and  asked  Nan  to  attend  to  it  for 

114 


MRS.  COPELAND'S  GOOD  FORTUNE 

him.  As  Mrs.  Copeland  and  Nan  mounted  the  bank 
steps  together,  they  ran  into  Billy  Copeland  emerg 
ing  in  deep  preoccupation.  The  juxtaposition  of 
the  two  women  plainly  startled  him.  He  took  off 
his  hat,  mumbled  something,  and  stood  staring 
after  them.  Then  his  gaze  fell  upon  Farley,  bend 
ing  forward  in  the  touring-car  and  watching  him 
with  his  small,  sharp  eyes.  He  instantly  put  on  his 
hat  and  crossed  the  walk. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Farley,"  he  said  cordially, 
offering  his  hand.  " I'm  glad  to  see  you  out  again." 

"Oh,  I  'm  not  dead  yet,"  growled  Farley.  "  I  Ve 
decided  to  hang  on  till  spring  anyhow." 

His  tone  did  not  encourage  conversation.  His 
face  was  twisted  into  a  disagreeable  smile  that 
Copeland  remembered  of  old,  and  there  was  a  hard, 
ironic  glitter  in  the  gray  eyes.  Farley  had  witnessed 
the  meeting  on  the  bank  steps  with  relish,  and  was 
glad  of  this  opportunity  to  prolong  his  enjoyment 
of  his  former  associate's  discomfiture. 

"I'm  sure  you'll  see  many  more  springs,  Mr. 
Farley.  That 's  a  good  machine  you  've  got  there. 
The  fact  that  you  Ve  taken  up  motoring  has  given 
a  real  boost  to  the  auto  business.  The  agents  are 
saying  that  if  you  Ve  got  in  line  there 's  no  reason 
for  anybody  to  hold  back." 

The  old  man  grunted. 

"  I  had  to  have  air;  I  knew  all  the  time  that  was 
what  I  needed;  these  damned  doctors  only  keep 
people  in  bed  so  they  can  bulldoze  'em  easier." 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Copeland  was  attempting  to  be  friendly,  but 
Farley  was  in  no  humor  to  meet  his  advances. 

"That  last  payment  on  the  sale  of  my  stock  is 
due  September  first.  I  won't  renew  it,"  he  said 
sharply. 

"I  hadn't  asked  for  an  extension,"  Copeland 
replied  coldly. 

"All  right,  then;  that  will  be  the  end  of  that." 

Farley's  tone  implied  that  there  might  be  other 
matters  between  them  that  this  final  payment  would 
still  leave  open. 

Copeland's  ready  promise  that  the  twenty-five 
thousand  would  be  paid  irritated  Farley,  who  saw 
one  excuse  for  his  animosity  vanishing.  He  leaned 
forward  and  pointed  his  finger  at  Copeland,  who 
was  backing  away,  anxious  to  be  gone  before  his 
former  wife  reappeared. 

"  You  're  ruinin'  the  house !  You  're  lettin'  it  go  to 
hell  —  the  business  your  father  and  I  made  the  best 
jobbin'  house  in  this  State!  You  're  a  drunkard  and 
a  gambler,  but,  damn  your  fool  soul,  there's  one 
thing  you  can't  do  —  you  can't  marry  that  little 
girl  o'  mine!  If  you've  got  that  up  your  sleeve,  be 
sure  there's  no  money  goes  with  her  for  you  to 
squander!  Remember  that!" 

It  was  the  busiest  hour  of  the  day  and  the  street 
was  thronged.  Pedestrians  turned  and  stared  cu 
riously.  Copeland  raged  inwardly  at  his  stupidity 
in  giving  Farley  a  chance  to  abuse  him  publicly. 

"You're  very  unjust  to  me,"  he  said  hotly. 

116 


MRS.  COPELAND'S   GOOD   FORTUNE 

"I've  known  Nan  ever  since  she  was  a  child  and 
never  had  any  but  a  friendly  feeling  for  her.  I 
have  n't  seen  her  for  weeks.  Now  that  I  know  how 
you  feel  toward  me,  I  have  no  intention  of  seeing 
her." 

"I  guess  you  won't  see  her!"  Farley  snorted. 
"Not  unless  you  mean  to  make  her  pay  for  it!" 

Mrs.  Copeland  and  Nan  appeared  at  the  bank 
entrance  at  this  moment  and  witnessed  the  end  of 
the  colloquy.  Copeland  lifted  his  hat  to  Farley  and 
walked  rapidly  away  without  glancing  at  them. 

Farley  became  cheerful  immediately,  as  he  usu 
ally  did  after  an  explosion.  This  opportunity  for 
laying  the  lash  across  Billy  Copeland's  shoulders 
had  afforded  him  a  welcome  diversion ;  and  the  fact 
that  Copeland  had  seen  his  former  wife  in  Nan's 
company  tickled  his  sardonic  humor.  He  made  no 
reference  to  Copeland,  but  began  speaking  of  a 
new  office  building  farther  down  the  street.  It  was 
apparent  that  neither  Nan  nor  Fanny  shared  his 
joy  in  the  encounter  and  they  attacked  the  archi 
tecture  of  the  new  building  to  hide  their  discom 
fort. 

Nan  appeared  the  more  self-conscious.  She  was 
thinking  of  Billy.  He  had  turned  away  from  the 
machine  with  a  crestfallen  air  which  told  her  quite 
plainly  that  Farley  had  been  giving  him  a  piece 
of  his  mind.  And  Nan  resented  this;  Farley  had 
no  right  to  abuse  Billy  on  her  account. 

When  they  reached  the  house  she  took  Fanny 
117 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

upstairs.  If  the  glimpse  of  Copeland  on  the  bank 
steps  had  troubled  Mrs.  Copeland  she  made  no 
sign.  Her  deft  touches  with  the  comb  and  brush, 
as  she  glanced  in  the  mirror,  her  despairing  com 
ments  upon  the  state  of  her  complexion,  which,  she 
averred,  the  summer  suns  had  ruined;  her  enthu 
siasm  over  Nan's  silk  waist,  which  was  just  the 
thing  she  had  sought  without  avail  in  all  the  shops 
in  town,  —  all  served  to  stamp  her  as  wholly 
human. 

"But  clothes!  I  hardly  have  time  to  think  of 
them;  they're  an  enormous  bother.  And  I  wear 
the  shoes  of  a  peasant  woman  when  I  come  to  town, 
for  I  have  to  cut  across  the  fields  when  I  leave  the 
interurban  and  I  can't  do  that  in  pumps!  You 
see—" 

The  shoes  really  were  very  neat  ones,  though  a 
trifle  heavy  for  indoors.  Nan  instantly  brought  her 
shiniest  pumps,  dropped  upon  the  floor  and  sub 
stituted  them  for  Fanny's  walking  shoes.  It  flashed 
through  her  mind  that  Fanny  Copeland  inspired 
just  such  acts. 

"You  have  the  slim  foot  of  the  aristocrat,"  ob 
served  Fanny.  And  then  with  a  wistful  smile  she 
leaned  toward  the  girl  and  asked,  "Do  you  mind 
if  I  call  you  Nan?" 

Nan  was  touched  by  the  tone  and  manner  of 
her  request.  Of  course  there  was  no  objection! 

"I  always  knew  I  should  like  you,"  said  Fanny. 
"Of  course,  I  have  n't  seen  much  of  you  lately,  but 

118 


MRS.  COPELAND'S  GOOD  FORTUNE 

I  hear  of  you  from  a  very  ardent  admirer:  John 
Eaton  talks  of  you  eloquently,  and  to  interest  John 
Eaton  is  a  real  achievement!  I  'm  afraid  I  bore  him 
to  death!" 

"I  can't  believe  it;  he  never  lets  himself  be 
bored ;  but  like  everybody  else,  I  'm  never  quite  sure 
I  understand  him." 

"Oh,  I  tell  him  that's  one  of  his  poses  —  baffling 
people.  He  surrounds  himself  with  mystery,  but 
pretends  that  he  does  n't.  If  he  were  a  gossip 
he'd  be  horrible,  for  he  knows  everything  about 
everybody  —  and  knows  it  first!" 

"He's  the  kindest  of  mortals,"  Nan  observed. 
"He's  always  doing  nice  things  for  people,  but  he 
has  to  do  them  in  his  own  peculiar  way." 

"Oh,  John  has  the  spirit  of  the  true  philan 
thropist  ;  his  right  hand  never  knows,  you  know  — 

"He's  a  puzzle  to  the  people  he's  kindest  to, 
sometimes,  I  imagine,"  said  Nan. 

She  laughed  as  she  thought  of  Amidon,  and  Fanny 
appealed  for  illumination  as  to  what  amused  her. 

"Oh,  I  was  thinking  of  his  prot6ge  —  a  young 
man  named  Amidon.  He  and  I  were  kids  together, 
back  in  my  prehistoric  days.  He  never  had  any  ad 
vantages  —  if  you  can  say  that  of  a  boy  who 's 
born  with  a  keen  wit  and  a  sense  of  humor.  He 
does  something  at  the  Copeland-Farley  store  • — 
went  in  as  errand  boy  before  papa  left.  They  had 
him  on  the  road  for  a  while,  but  he's  in  the  office 
now.  Mr.  Eaton  has  taken  a  great  shine  to  him  and 

119 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Jerry  imitates  him  killingly.  That  fine  abstracted 
air  of  Mr.  Eaton's  he's  got  nearly  perfect;  and  he 
does  the  mysterious  pretty  well,  too.  But  he's 
most  delicious  when  he  forgets  to  Eatonize  himself 
and  is  just  natural.  He's  quite  short  —  which 
makes  him  all  the  funnier  —  and  he  wears  tall, 
white-wing  collars  d,  la  Eaton." 

"Tell  me  more!"  said  Fanny.  "How  old  is  the 
paragon?" 

"About  twenty- five,  I  should  say,  figuring  with 
my  own  age  as  a  basis.  He  looked  like  a  big  boy 
to  me  in  my  river  days.  Mr.  Eaton  has  undertaken 
his  social  and  mental  rehabilitation  and  the  effects 
are  amazing.  They  came  to  the  house  together  to 
call,  and  I  Ve  rarely  been  more  entertained  than  by 
Jerry  while  his  good  angel  was  upstairs  talking  to 
papa.  He's  trying  to  avoid  any  show  of  emotion 
just  like  his  noble  example,  but  once  in  a  while  he 
forgets  himself  and  grins  deliciously.  After  a  round 
of  high-brow  talk,  he  drops  into  reminiscence  and 
tells  the  most  killing  stories  of  the  odd  characters 
he's  met  in  his  travels  with  the  sample-case.  It 
can't  be  possible  that  Mr.  Eaton  has  n't  introduced 
him  to  you?" 

"He  hasn't,  and  I'm  going  to  complain  about 
it  bitterly,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland,  amused  by  Nan's 
enthusiasm. 

"You  should,  for  Jerry  is  a  nice  boy,  and  very 
wise  and  kind." 

"The  only  one  of  his  benefactions  he  ever  con- 
120 


MRS.  COPELAND'S  GOOD  FORTUNE 

fided  to  me  was  the  case  of  a  girl  —  the  daughter  of 
an  old  friend  who  had  fallen  on  evil  times.  He 
wanted  to  send  her  to  college,  and  I  became  the 
visible  instrument,  so  he  need  n't  appear  in  the 
matter  himself.  The  girl  graduated  last  year  and, 
like  a  fraud,  I  had  to  go  down  to  Vassar  and  pose 
as  her  good  angel.  She's  a  great  success  and  is  to 
teach  somewhere,  I  think.  But  —  I  should  n't  be 
telling  you  this!" 

"Oh,  it's  quite  safe!  I  value  his  friendship  too 
much  to  do  anything  to  displease  him." 

"Well,  things  like  that  ought  to  be  told,"  re 
marked  Fanny  reflectively;  "particularly  when 
some  people  think  John  Eaton  cold  and  selfish." 

Luncheon  interrupted  these  confidences.  Farley 
had  not  been  to  the  dining-room  for  several  months 
and  he  made  much  of  the  occasion. 

"This  is  a  celebration  for  me,  too,"  said  Fanny. 
"I've  just  had  a  piece  of  good  fortune.  Nobody 
knows  of  it  yet;  you're  the  first  people  I've  told! 
You  know  I  have  n't  many  friends  to  confide  in. 
An  aunt  of  mine  has  just  died  and  left  me  some 
money.  In  fact,  there's  a  great  deal  of  it;  I'm 
richer  than  I  ever  expected  to  be." 

"Good!  Good!"  Farley  ejaculated,  interested 
and  pleased. 

"It's  fine,"  said  Nan;  "and  it's  nice  of  you  to 
tell  us  about  it." 

Nan  was  afraid  that  Farley  would  demand  the 
amount  of  the  legacy,  but  evidently  Fanny  knew 

121 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

he  would  be  curious  as  to  all  the  details,  and  she 
went  on  to  explain  that  it  was  her  mother's  sister, 
the  last  of  the  family,  who  had  died  recently  in 
Ohio  and  left  her  all  her  property. 

"I  have  visited  her  every  year  or  two  since  I 
was  a  child  and  knew  her  very  well,  but  I  never  had 
any  idea  she  meant  to  do  this.  It  will  take  some 
time  to  settle  it  up,  but  there's  as  much  as  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  sight  —  maybe  fifty 
more.  She  was  a  dear  old  woman ;  I  'm  so  ashamed 
of  myself  that  I  was  n't  kinder  to  her,  but  she  was 
difficult  to  handle  —  had  n't  left  home  for  years, 
though  she  used  to  write  to  me  two  or  three  times 
a  year.  So  there !  That 's  why  I  'm  running  into  the 
bank  these  days,  to  ask  Mr.  Harrington  about 
investments." 

"If  you  take  his  advice,"  said  Farley  emphati 
cally,  "you'll  never  lose  any  of  that  money!" 

"Then  what's  to  become  of  the  farm?"  asked 
Nan. 

"Oh,  I  shall  run  it  just  the  same.  I 'd  rather  lose 
that  legacy  than  give  it  up.  An  unattached  woman 
like  me  must  have  something  to  amuse  herself 
with." 

"That's  a  lot  o'  money;  a  whole  lot  o'  money," 
said  Farley;  "and  I  'm  mighty  glad  you've  got  it." 

Nan  saw  a  gleam  in  his  eye  and  a  covert  smile 
playing  about  his  lips.  He  chuckled  softly. 

"Two  hundred;  two  hundred  fifty;  that's  a 
whole  lot  o'  money ;  and  you  don't  want  to  let  any 

122 


MRS.  COPELAND'S   GOOD   FORTUNE 

of  these  sharks  around  here  get  it  away  from  you ; 
they'll  be  after  you  all  right.  But  I  guess  you'll 
know  how  to  handle  'em,"  he  added  with  satis 
faction. 

When  Fanny  was  ready  to  go  he  called  for  his 
car  and  he  and  Nan  drove  home  with  her. 

That  night,  after  the  nurse  had  put  him  to  bed, 
Nan  heard  an  unusual  sound  from  his  room.  She 
crossed  the  hall  and  stood  in  the  doorway  a  mo 
ment.  He  was  muttering  to  himself  and  chuckling. 

"Picked  up  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  just  like  findin'  it!  Turned  her  out;  got  rid 
of  her!  Well,  that's  a  hell  of  a  joke  on  you,  Billy 
Copeland!" 


CHAPTER   IX 

A    NARROW    ESCAPE 

ON  a  rainy  evening  in  mid-September,  a  sales 
man  for  an  Eastern  chemical  firm  invited  Amidon 
to  join  him  in  a  game  of  billiards  at  the  Whitcomb 
House.  As  Russell  Kirby  was  one  of  the  stars  of 
the  traveling  fraternity,  Jerry  was  greatly  honored 
by  this  attention.  Moreover,  when  he  hung  up 
his  coat  in  the  billiard  room  and  rolled  up  the 
sleeves  of  his  silk  shirt,  the  traveler's  arms  proved  to 
be  thoroughly  tanned  —  and  this  impressed  Jerry 
as  indicating  that  Kirby  indulged  in  the  aristocratic 
game  of  golf  and  did  not  allow  the  cares  of  business 
to  interfere  with  his  lawful  amusements.  Kirby 
played  very  good  billiards,  and  did  not  twist  his 
cigar  into  the  corner  of  his  mouth  when  he  made 
his  shots,  as  most  of  Jerry's  friends  did. 

"The  lid's  on  a  little  looser  in  your  town  than 
it  was  last  winter,"  remarked  the  envied  one, 
sipping  a  ricky.  "  I  suppose  by  following  our  noses 
we  could  strike  a  pretty  stiff  game  without  going 
out  into  the  wet." 

"Oh,  there's  always  more  or  less  poker  around 
here,"  replied  Jerry,  unwilling  to  appear  ignorant 
of  the  moral  conditions  of  his  own  city. 

He  chalked  his  cue  and  watched  Kirby  achieve 
a  difficult  shot.  Billiards  afforded  Jerry  a  fine 

124 


A  NARROW   ESCAPE 

exercise  for  his  philosophic  temper,  steady  hand, 
and  calculating  eye.  He  had  developed  a  high  de 
gree  of  proficiency  with  the  cue  in  the  Criterion 
Billiard  Parlors.  It  was  a  grief  to  him  that  in  try 
ing  to  live  up  to  Eaton  he  had  felt  called  upon  to 
desert  the  Criterion,  where  the  admiration  of  lesser 
lights  had  been  dear  to  his  soul. 

"Big  Rodney  Sykes  is  here,"  Kirby  remarked 
carelessly.  "They  chased  him  out  of  Chicago  that 
last  time  they  had  a  moral  upheaval." 

Jerry  was  chagrined  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
Big  Rodney  Sykes,  presumably  a  gambler  of 
established  reputation.  To  be  a  high-salaried 
traveler,  with  a  flexible  expense  account,  was  to  be 
in  touch  with  the  inner  life  of  all  great  cities. 
Jerry's  envy  deepened;  it  availed  nothing  that  he 
could  beat  this  sophisticated  being  at  billiards. 

"  Rather  tough  about  that  boss  of  yours,"  Kirby 
continued.  "It's  fellows  of  his  size  that  Big  Rodney 
goes  after.  A  gentleman's  game  and  no  stopping 
payment  of  checks  the  next  morning." 

"Oh,  the  boss  is  no  squab;  I  guess  he's  sat  in 
with  as  keen  sharps  as  Sykes  and  got  out  with 
carfare  home,"  replied  Jerry. 

"Of  course;  but  on  a  hot  night  like  this  many  a 
good  man  feels  the  need  of  a  little  relaxation.  It 
just  happened"  —  he  prolonged  the  deliberation 
of  his  aim  to  intensify  Jerry's  curiosity  —  "hap 
pened  I  saw  Copeland  wandering  toward  Sykes's 
room  as  I  was  coming  down." 

125 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"  I  guess  the  boss  knows  a  thing  or  two,"  replied 
Jerry  easily,  in  a  tone  that  implied  unlimited 
confidence  in  Copeland. 

He  was  consumed  with  indignation  that  Kirby 
should  be  able  to  tell  him  anything  about  Cope- 
land.  It  had  been  done,  too,  with  a  neatness  of  in 
sinuation  that  was  galling. 

"Well,  I  guess,"  persisted  Kirby,  "you  miss  old 
Uncle  Tim  at  the  store.  I  used  to  have  many  a 
jolly  row  with  Uncle  Tim;  he  was  one  man  it 
never  paid  to  fool  with ;  but  he  was  all  right  — 
just  about  as  clean-cut  and  straight  a  man  as  I 
ever  fought  discounts  with.  Uncle  Tim  was  a  mer 
chant,"  he  ended  impressively  as  he  bent  over  the 
table. 

In  calling  Farley  a  merchant  with  this  air  of 
finality  he  implied  very  clearly  that  William  B. 
Copeland  was  something  quite  different,  and  Jerry 
resented  this  imputation  as  a  slur  upon  his  house. 
Much  as  he  admired  Kirby 's  clothes  and  metropol 
itan  ways,  he  hated  him  cordially  for  thus  speak 
ing  of  Copeland,  who  was  one  of  Kirby's  important 
customers.  Mere  defeat  was  no  adequate  punish 
ment  for  Kirby;  Jerry  proceeded  to  make  a  "run" 
that  attracted  the  admiring  attention  of  players 
at  neighboring  tables  and  precluded  further  dis 
cussion  of  Copeland. 

At  midnight  Kirby  said  he  had  had  all  the  bil 
liards  he  wanted  and  invited  Jerry  to  his  room. 

"I  always  like  to  tell  people  about  their  own 
126 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE 

town  and   I'll   show  you  where  they're  piling  up 
the  chips,"  he  remarked. 

His  room  was  opposite  the  elevator  on  the 
seventh  floor,  and  having  unlocked  his  door  he 
piloted  Jerry  round  a  corner  and  indicated  three 
rooms  which  he  said  were  given  over  to  gambling. 

"If  you  give  the  right  number  of  taps  that  first 
door  will  open,"  said  Kirby,  "but  as  an  old  friend 
I  warn  you  to  keep  out." 

As  they  were  turning  away  a  telephone  tinkled 
faintly  in  one  of  the  rooms  and  they  heard  voices 
raised  excitedly,  accompanied  by  the  bang  of  over 
turned  furniture. 

"They  've  got  a  tip  the  cops  are  coming  or  there 's 
a  fight,"  said  Kirby.  "Here's  where  we  fade!" 

He  led  the  way  quickly  back  to  his  room,  dragged 
Jerry  in,  and  shut  the  door. 

While  the  sounds  of  hasty  flight  continued,  the 
elevator  discharged  half  a  dozen  men  and  they 
heard  the  hotel  manager  protesting  to  the  police 
that  it  was  an  outrage;  that  the  rooms  they  were 
raiding  had  been  taken  by  strangers,  and  that  if 
there  was  anything  wrong  he  was  n't  responsible. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  return  of  the  prisoners 
to  the  elevator  announced  the  success  of  the  raid. 
Several  of  them  were  protesting  loudly  against 
riding  to  the  police  station  in  a  patrol  wagon ;  others 
were  taking  the  whole  matter  as  a  joke.  Above  the 
confusion  Copeland's  voice  rose  drunkenly  in  de 
nunciation  of  his  arrest. 

127 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Kirby,  anxious  not  to  be  identified  even  re 
motely  with  the  sinners  who  had  been  caught  in 
their  transgressions,  had  taken  off  his  coat  and 
was  lighting  a  cigar. 

"  Try  one  of  these,  Amidon.  We  'd  better  sit  tight 
until  the  cops  get  out  of  the  building.  Nice  town 
this!  Gambling  in  respectable  hotels.  No  doubt 
all  those  fellows  are  leading  citizens,  including  — 

At  this  instant  the  electric  lights  were  extin 
guished.  The  darkness  continued  and  Jerry  opened 
the  door  and  stuck  his  head  out.  Half  the  prisoners 
had  been  sent  down  and  the  remainder  were  waiting 
for  the  elevator  to  return.  They  growled  dismally 
and  somebody  said  it  was  a  good  chance  to  give  the 
cops  the  slip. 

One  of  the  policemen  struck  a  match  and  held  it 
up  to  light  the  entrance  to  the  car.  Jerry's  eyes 
ran  quickly  over  the  group  facing  the  shaft,  but 
he  recognized  none  of  the  men.  As  the  match  died 
out  a  prolonged,  weary  sigh  near  at  hand  caused 
him  to  start.  Some  one  was  leaning  against  the 
wall  close  beside  him.  He  reached  out,  caught  the 
man  by  the  arm,  drew  him  into  the  room  and  softly 
closed  the  door. 

Kirby  demanded  to  know  what  Amidon  had 
done,  and  during  the  whispered  explanation  the 
globes  began  to  brighten.  Jerry  jumped  for  the 
switch  and  snapped  off  the  lights.  He  climbed  on  a 
chair  and  surveyed  the  hall  through  the  transom. 
The  last  officer  was  stepping  into  the  elevator,  and 

128 


A  NARROW   ESCAPE 

some  one  demanded  to  know  what  had  become  of 
Billy  Copeland. 

"Oh,  he  went  down  in  the  first  load,"  replied 
another  voice. 

Then  the  door  clanged  and  the  hall  was  quiet. 

"Turn  on  the  lights,"  commanded  Kirby. 

Copeland  sat  on  the  bed,  staring  at  them  fool 
ishly. 

"Wherenell  am  I?"  he  asked  blinking.  "Thiss 
jail  or  somebody's  parlor?" 

"Your  nerve,  young  man,"  Kirby  remarked  to 
Jerry,  "leaves  nothing  to  be  desired.  I  suppose 
it  did  n't  occur  to  you  that  this  is  my  room?" 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right.  If  the  cops  ain't  back 
here  in  ten  minutes,  they'll  probably  think  he's 
skipped;  and  they  won't  waste  time  looking  for 
him;  they  know  they  can  pick  him  up  to-morrow, 
easy  enough." 

"Zhat  you,  Kirby,  good  old  boy;  right  off  Broad 
way!  Kind  of  you,  'm  sure.  Good  boy,  Amidon; 
wouldn't  let  your  boss  get  hauled  off  in  patrol  wagon. 
Raise  wages  for  that;  'predate  it;  mos'  grateful!" 

"All  right;  but  please  stop  talking,"  Jerry  ad 
monished.  "We'll  all  get  pinched  if  the  cops  find 
out  you're  here." 

"Los'  five  thous;  five  thou-sand  dollars;  hons' 
to  God  I  did!" 

Copeland's  face  was  aflame  from  drink  and  the 
heat,  and  unable  to  comprehend  what  had  hap 
pened  to  him  he  tumbled  over  on  the  bed.  Kirby 

129 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

eyed  him  contemptuously  and  turned  upon  Ami- 
don  angrily. 

"This  is  a  nice  mess  of  cats!  Would  you  mind 
telling  me  what  you  're  going  to  do  with  our  fallen 
brother?  Please  remember  that  reputation's  my 
only  asset,  and  if  I  get  arrested  my  house  might 
not  pass  it  off  as  a  little  joke!" 

"Oh,  cheer  up  and  be  a  good  sport!  I  know  the 
boys  at  the  desk  downstairs  and  I  'm  going  to  tell 
'em  you've  cleared  out  to  make  way  for  an  old 
comrade  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  I  '11  have 
you  moved,  and  then  I'll  put  the  boss  to  bed." 

"Anything  to  please  you,"  said  Kirby ironically, 
as  Copeland  began  to  snore.  "Your  boss  is  lying  on 
my  coat  and  I  hope  you  '11  have  the  decency  to  pay 
for  pressing  it!"  .  .  . 

At  ten  the  next  morning  Amidon  called  at  the 
Whitcomb  and  found  Copeland  half  dressed.  He 
had  telephoned  to  his  house  for  toilet  articles  and 
clean  linen  and  presented  the  fresh  and  chastened 
appearance  with  which  he  always  emerged  from  his 
sprees. 

"  I  thought  I  'd  drop  in,"  said  Jerry,  seating  him 
self  in  the  window. 

"Been  to  the  store? "  asked  Copeland  from  before 
the  mirror  where  he  was  sticking  a  gold  safety  pin 
through  the  ends  of  a  silk  collar. 

"Yes;  I  took  a  look  in." 

"Any  genial  policeman  lying  in  wait  for  me?" 

"Nothing  doing!    Everything's  all  fixed." 
130 


A  NARROW   ESCAPE 

"Fixed?  How  fixed?" 

"Oh,  I  know  the  way  around  the  pump  at  the 
police  court,  and  I  had  a  bum  lawyer  who  hangs 
out  there  make  the  right  sign  to  the  judge.  You 
owe  me  forty-seven  dollars  —  that  includes  ten 
for  the  lawyer." 

"Cheap  at  the  price,"  remarked  Copeland.  He 
had  taken  a  check  book  from  the  table  and  was 
frowningly  inspecting  the  last  stub. 

"I  didn't  come  to  collect,"  said  Jerry.  "Any 
old  time  will  do." 

"How did  the  rest  of  the  boys  come  out?"  asked 
Copeland,  throwing  the  book  down  impatiently. 

"Oh,  the  big  sneeze  from  Chicago  got  a  heavy 
soaking.  The  judge  took  it  out  on  him  for  the  rest 
of  you.  Would  n't  do,  of  course,  to  send  prominent 
business  men  to  the  work-house.  All  fined  under 
assumed  names.'1 

"Rather  expensive  evening  for  me.  Much 
obliged  to  you  just  the  same  for  saving  me  a  ride 
in  the  wagon." 

"Oh,  that  was  easy,"  said  Jerry.  "By  the  way, 
I  guess  we'd  better  slip  my  lawyer  friend  another 
ten.  He  dug  this  up  for  you  —  no  questions,  no 
fuss;  all  on  the  dead  quiet." 

He  drew  from  his  trousers  pocket  a  crumpled  bit 
of  paper  and  handed  it  to  Copeland. 

Jerry  was  not  without  his  sense  of  the  dramatic. 
He  rolled  a  cigarette  and  watched  Copeland  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye. 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"See  here,  Jerry,"  said  Copeland quickly,  "  I  don't 
know  about  this.  If  I  gave  that  check,  and  I  know 
I  did,  I  've  got  to  stand  by  it.  It's  not  square — 

"Oh,  I  would  n't  burst  out  crying  about  that!" 
remarked  Jerry  easily.  "Five  thousand  is  some 
money,  and  the  Chicago  shark  was  glad  enough  to 
have  the  check  disappear  from  the  police  safe. 
You  were  stewed  when  you  wrote  the  check;  and 
besides,  it  was  a  crooked  game.  Forget  it;  that's 
all!"  He  stretched  himself  and  yawned.  "Can  I 
do  anything  for  you?" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Copeland,  "that  you've 
done  about  enough  for  me  for  one  day,  —  kept 
me  out  of  jail  and  then  saved  me  five  thousand 
dollars!" 

"We  do  what  we  can,"  replied  Jerry.  "Keep  us 
posted  and  when  in  doubt  make  the  high  sign. 
You'd  better  keep  mum  about  the  check.  The 
deputy  prosecutor's  a  friend  of  mine  and  I  don't 
want  to  get  him  into  trouble." 

"  It  makes  me  feel  a  little  better  about  that  check 
to  know  that  it  wasn't  good  when  I  gave  it," 
remarked  Copeland  dryly.  "I've  only  got  about 
a  hundred  in  bank  according  to  my  stubs." 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  said  Jerry,  playing  with 
the  curtain  cord,  "as  I  came  down  from  the  police 
court,  that  five  thousand  per  night  swells  the  over 
head  considerable.  This  is  n't  a  kick;  I  just  men 
tion  it." 

Copeland  paused  in  the  act  of  drawing  on  his 
132 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE 

coat  to  bestow  a  searching  glance  upon  his  em 
ployee.  He  shook  himself  into  the  coat  and  rested 
his  hand  on  the  brass  bedpost. 

"What's  the  odds?"  he  asked  harshly.  "I'm 
undoubtedly  going  to  hell  and  a  thousand  or  two, 
here  and  there  — 

"Why  are  you  going?"  asked  Jerry,  tying  a  loop 
in  the  curtain  cord. 

Copeland  was  not  prepared  for  this;  he  did  n't  at 
once  correlate  Amidon's  question  with  his  own 
remark  that  had  inspired  it. 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  he  ejaculated  impatiently;  and 
then  he  smiled  ruefully  as  he  realized  that  there 
was  a  certain  appositeness  in  his  rejoinder. 

The  relations  of  employer  and  employee  had 
been  modified  by  the  incidents  of  the  night  and 
morning.  Copeland  imagined  that  he  was  some 
thing  of  a  hero  to  his  employees,  and  that  Jerry 
probably  viewed  the  night's  escapade  as  one  of  the 
privileges  enjoyed  by  the  more  favored  social  class. 
Possibly  in  his  own  way  Amidon  was  guilty  of 
reprehensible  dissipations  and  therefore  disposed 
to  be  tolerant  of  other  men's  shortcomings.  At 
any  rate,  the  young  fellow  had  got  him  out  of  a  bad 
scrape,  and  he  meant  to  do  something  for  him  to 
show  his  gratitude. 

"Well,  a  man's  got  to  let  loose  occasionally,"  he 
said,  as  he  began  collecting  his  toilet  acticles. 

"I  suppose  he  has,"  Amidon  admitted  without 
enthusiasm. 

133 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"I  guess  I  ought  to  cut  out  these  midnight 
parties  and  get  down  to  business,"  said  Copeland, 
as  though  recent  history  called  for  some  such  dec 
laration  of  his  intentions. 

"Well,  it's  up  to  you,"  Jerry  replied.  "You  can 
let  'er  slide  if  you  want  to." 

"You  mean  that  the  house  is  sliding  already?" 
Copeland  asked. 

"It's  almost  worse  than  a  slide,  if  you  want  to 
know.  But  I  did  n't  come  here  to  talk  about  that. 
There's  plenty  of  others  can  tell  you  more  about 
the  business  than  I  can." 

"But  they  don't,"  said  Copeland,  frowning;  "I 
suppose  —  I  suppose  maybe  they're  afraid  to." 

"  I  guess  that's  right,  too,"  Jerry  affirmed. 

"Well,  you  're  in  a  position  to  learn  what 's  going 
on.  I  want  to  push  you  ahead.  I  hope  you  under 
stand  that." 

"Oh,  you  treat  me  all  right,"  said  Jerry,  but  in  a 
tone  that  Copeland  did  n't  find  cheering. 

"I  mean  to  treat  everybody  right  at  the  store," 
declared  Copeland  virtuously.  "  If  any  of  the  boys 
have  a  kick  I  want  them  to  come  straight  to  me 
with  it." 

Jerry  laid  his  hand  on  the  door  ready  for  flight 
and  regarded  Copeland  soberly. 

"The  only  kick's  on  you,  if  you  can  bear  to  hear 
it.  Everybody  around  the  place  knows  you  're  not 
on  the  job;  every  drayman  in  the  district  knows 
you  're  out  with  a  paintbrush  every  night,  and  the 

134 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE 

solid  men  around  town  are  saying  it 's  only  a  mat 
ter  of  time  till  you  go  broke.  And  the  men  down 
at  the  store  are  sore  about  it ;  it  means  that  one  of 
these  mornings  there'll  be  a  new  shift  and  they're 
likely  to  be  out  of  a  job.  Some  of  them  have  been 
there  a  long  time,  and  they  don't  like  to  see  the 
old  business  breaking  down.  And  some  of  them,  I 
guess,  sort  o'  like  you  and  hate  to  see  you  slipping 
over  the  edge." 

During  this  speech  Copeland  stood  with  his 
cigarette-case  half  opened  in  his  hand,  looking 
hard  at  the  top  button  on  Amidon's  coat. 

"Well,"  he  said,  thrusting  a  cigarette  into  his 
mouth  and  tilting  it  upwards  with  his  lips  while  he 
felt  for  a  match,  "  go  on  and  hand  me  the  rest  of  it." 

"  I  guess  that's  about  all  from  me,"  replied  Jerry, 
"except  if  you  want  to  bounce  me  right  now,  go 
ahead,  only  —  let's  don't  have  any  hard  feeling." 

Copeland  made  no  reply,  and  Jerry  went  out 
and  closed  the  door.  Then  in  a  moment  he  opened 
it,  saw  Copeland  staring  out  across  the  roofs  in 
deep  preoccupation,  and  remarked,  deferentially:— 

"I'll  carry  your  bag  down,  sir.  Shall  I  order  a 
taxi?" 

"Never  mind,"  said  Copeland,  with  affected 
carelessness;  "I'll  attend  to  it.  I'm  going  to  the 
store." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   AMBITIONS    OF    MR.    AMIDON 

No  other  branch  of  commerce  is  as  fascinating 
as  the  wholesale  drug  business.  A  drug  stock  em 
braces  ten  thousand  small  items,  and  the  remote 
fastnesses  of  the  earth  are  raked  to  supply  its  ne 
cessities.  The  warehouses  are  redolent  of  countless 
scents  that  pique  a  healthy  curiosity;  poppy  and 
mandragora  and  all  the  drowsy  sirups  of  the  world 
are  enlisted  in  its  catalogue.  How  superior  to  the 
handling  of  the  grosser  commodities  of  the  whole 
sale  grocery  line!  How  infinitely  more  delightful 
than  distributing  clanging  hardware  or  scattering 
broadcast  the  unresponsive  units  of  the  dry-goods 
trade ! 

Such,  at  least,  were  Jerry  Amidon's  opinions. 
Jerry  knew  his  way  around  the  store  —  literally. 
He  could  find  the  asafcetida  without  sniffing  his 
way  to  it.  He  had  acquired  a  working  knowledge 
of  the  pharmacopoeia,  and  under  Eaton's  guidance 
he  purchased  a  Latin  grammar  and  a  dictionary, 
over  which  he  labored  diligently  in  the  midnight 
hours.  His  curiosity  was  insatiable;  he  wanted  to 
know  things! 

"Assistant  to  the  President"  was  the  title  be 
stowed  upon  him  by  his  fellow  employees.  By  im- 

136 


THE  AMBITIONS  OF  MR.  AMIDON 

perceptible  degrees  he  had  grown  into  a  confidential 
relationship  with  Copeland  that  puzzled  the  whole 
establishment.  The  latest  shifts  had  been  unusu 
ally  productive  of  friction,  and  Amidon  had  found 
his  new  position  under  the  credit  man  wholly  un 
comfortable.  Having  asserted  his  authority,  Cope- 
land  gave  no  heed  to  the  results.  The  credit  man 
was  an  old  employee,  very  jealous  of  his  preroga 
tives,  and  he  had  told  Jerry  in  blunt  terms  that  he 
had  nothing  for  him  to  do.  The  auditor  thereupon 
pounced  upon  him  and  set  him  to  work  checking 
invoices. 

Jerry  wrote  a  good  hand  and  proved  apt,  and  as 
a  result  of  this  contact  with  the  office  he  absorbed 
a  vast  amount  of  information  pertaining  to  the 
business  to  which,  strictly  speaking,  he  was  not 
entitled.  Copeland,  seeing  him  perched  on  a  stool 
in  the  counting-room,  asked  him  what  he  was  do 
ing  there,  and  when  Jerry  replied  that  he  was  just 
helping  out  for  a  day  or  two,  Copeland  remarked 
ironically  that  he  guessed  he'd  better  stay  there; 
that  he'd  been  thinking  for  some  time  that  fresh 
blood  was  needed  in  that  department. 

No  one  else  entered  Copeland 's  office  with  so 
much  assurance.  If  Jerry  had  n't  been  so  amiable, 
so  willing  to  help  any  one  who  called  for  his  assist 
ance,  he  would  have  been  cordially  hated;  but 
Jerry  was  a  likable  fellow.  He  prided  himself  on 
keeping  cheerful  on  blue  Mondays  when  every 
body  else  about  the  place  was  in  the  doldrums. 

137 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

The  auditor  sent  him  to  the  bank  frequently, 
and  he  experienced  a  pleasurable  sensation  in  walk 
ing  briskly  across  the  lobby  of  the  Western  Na 
tional.  He  knew  many  of  the  clerks  he  saw  im 
mured  in  the  cages;  some  of  them  were  members 
of  the  Little  Ripple  Club,  and  he  made  a  point  of 
finding  out  just  what  they  did,  and  incidentally  the 
amount  of  their  salaries,  which  seemed  disgrace 
fully  inadequate;  he  was  doing  quite  as  well  him 
self.  He  liked  to  linger  in  the  bank  lobby  and  talk 
to  people.  He  had  hit  on  the  happy  expedient  of 
speaking  to  men  whether  he  knew  them  or  not ;  he 
argued  that  in  time  they  would  ask  who  he  was, 
which  was  a  surer  way  of  impressing  himself  upon 
them  than  through  formal  introductions. 

Ambition  stirred  in  the  bosom  of  Jeremiah  A. 
Amidon.  He  lavished  his  admiration  upon  the 
"big"  men  of  the  " street "  —  in  the  main  they 
were  hard  workers,  and  he  was  pretty  well  per 
suaded  of  the  virtue  and  reward  of  industry. 

Nearly  all  the  leading  manufacturers  and  mer 
chants  were  stockholders  in  banks.  The  fact  that 
Copeland  enjoyed  no  such  distinction  troubled 
Jerry.  He  studied  the  stock-list,  hoping  to  see 
something  some  day  that  he  could  buy. 

The  local  stock  exchange  consisted  of  three  gen 
tlemen  calling  themselves  brokers.  Whenever  they 
met  by  chance  on  the  steps  of  the  Western  Na 
tional  or  in  a  trolley  going  home,  the  exchange  was 
in  session.  The  "list"  must  be  kept  active,  and 

138 


THE  AMBITIONS   OF  MR.  AMIDON 

when  there  were  no  transfers  the  brokers  could 
trade  a  few  shares  with  one  another  to  establish  a 
price.  These  agitations  of  the  local  bourse  would 
be  duly  reported  on  the  market  page  of  the  news 
papers  —  all  but  the  number  of  shares  changing 
hands!  "A  better  tone  prevailing";  "brisk  de 
mand  for  tractions";  "lively  trading  in  indus 
trials"  would  soberly  greet  the  eye  of  students  of 
local  financial  conditions. 

Foreman,  one  of  the  brokers,  who  had  been 
haunting  the  store  for  several  days  looking  for 
Copeland,  accosted  Jerry  in  the  bank  one  after 
noon. 

"Your  boss  does  n't  sit  on  his  job  much,"  Fore 
man  remarked.  "I'm  getting  tired  chasing  him." 

"He's  off  motoring  with  Kinney  —  they're 
looking  for  a  place  to  start  another  cement  mill. 
Why  don't  you  call  for  me  when  you  honor  the 
house?" 

"Oh,  my  business  with  Copeland  is  too  trifling 
to  trouble  you  about,"  the  broker  remarked  ironi 
cally.  "You  have  n't  any  money,  have  you?" 

Jerry  bent  his  ear  to  catch  the  jingle  of  coin  in 
side  the  cages. 

"Oh,  if  you  want  to  borrow,  Copeland-Farley 
ain't  a  pawnshop." 

"  I  guess  C-F  does  n't  lend  much;  it's  the  biggest 
borrower  on  the  street,"  said  Foreman. 

"Every  big  jobber  is  a  heavy  borrower.  It's  a 
part  of  the  game,"  Jerry  replied.  Foreman's  anxi- 

139 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

ety  to  find  Copeland  had  piqued  his  curiosity.  "Of 
course,  if  your  business  with  the  boss  can  wait  - 

"  It's  a  trifling  matter,  that  will  probably  annoy 
him  when  I  mention  it.  I  Ve  got  twenty  shares  of 
Copeland- Farley  for  sale.  I  thought  he  might  want 
to  pick  'em  up." 

"  Must  be  a  mistake,"  replied  Jerry  indifferently; 
"there's  never  any  of  our  stock  for  sale." 

"No;  I  suppose  you've  got  most  of  it  yourself 
downstairs  in  the  safety  vault!" 

"Come  through  and  pour  the  dope !"  said  Jerry, 
grinning  cheerfully. 

"Well,  I  Ve  got  'em  all  right.  An  old  party  named 
Reynolds  up  at  Fort  Wayne  had  twenty  shares 
and  his  executors  wrote  me  that  Copeland  ought  to 
have  a  chance  to  buy  'em.  I  Ve  worn  myself  out 
trying  to  find  your  boss.  I  don't  know  who'd  buy 
if  he  did  n't.  The  things  you  hear  about  your  house 
are  a  little  bit  scary:  trade  falling  off;  head  of  the 
company  drinking,  gambling,  monkeying  with  out 
side  things,  like  Kinney  cement  — 

"Well,  well!"  Jerry  chirruped;  "you're  just 
chuck  full  of  sad  tidings." 

"Of  course,  you  know  it  all;  but  maybe  you 
don't  know  that  Corbin  &  Eichberg  are  cutting  into 
your  business.  There  will  be  an  involuntary  con 
solidation  one  of  these  days  and  Copeland-Farley 
will  be  painted  off  the  sign." 

"You're  the  best  little  booster  I've  heard  sing 
this  week!  What '11  you  take  for  the  stock?" 

140 


THE  AMBITIONS  OF  MR.  AMIDON 

"Par." 

''Sold !  Bring  your  papers  here  to-morrow  at  two 
and  I'll  give  you  the  money." 

Jerry  had  heard  some  one  say  that  it  was  what 
you  can  do  without  money  that  proves  your  mettle 
in  business.  He  had  one  thousand  dollars,  that  rep 
resented  the  savings  of  his  lifetime.  The  second 
thousand  necessary  to  complete  the  purchase  he 
borrowed  of  Eaton  —  who  made  the  advance  not 
without  much  questioning. 

"Very  careless  on  Copeland's  part,  but  to  be 
expected  of  a  man  who  takes  only  a  fitful  interest 
in  his  business.  You  have  about  one  thousand 
dollars!  All  right;  I'll  lend  you  what  you  need  to 
buy  the  stock.  But  keep  this  to  yourself;  don't 
turn  in  the  old  certificate  for  a  new  one  —  not  at 
present.  Wait  and  see  what  happens.  Copeland 
needs  discipline,  and  he  will  probably  get  it.  Kinney 
and  Copeland  seeing  much  of  each  other?" 

"Well,  they're  off  on  a  business  trip  together." 

"  I  mean  social  affairs.  They  have  n't  been  driv 
ing  peaceful  citizens  away  from  the  Country  Club 
by  their  cork-popping  quite  so  much,  have  they? 
I  thought  not;  that's  good.  The  general  reform 
wave  may  hit  them  yet." 

"On  the  dead,  I  think  Copeland's  trying  to  cut 
out  the  early  morning  parties,"  said  Jerry  earnestly. 
"He's  taken  a  brace." 

"If  he  does  n't  want  to  die  in  the  poorhouse  at 
the  early  age  of  fifty,  he'd  better!"  Eaton  brushed 

141 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

an  imaginary  speck  off  his  cuff  as  he  asked,  "How 
much  did  your  boss  give  you  of  the  five  thousand 
you  got  back  for  him  out  of  that  poker  game?" 

Amidon  fidgeted  and  colored  deeply. 

"Just  another  of  these  fairy  stories!" 

"Your  attempt  to  feign  ignorance  is  laudable, 
Amidon.  But  my  information  is  exact.  Rather 
neat,  particularly  lifting  him  right  out  of  the  patrol 
wagon,  so  to  speak.  And  recovering  the  check; 
creditable  to  your  tact  —  highly  so!" 

Jerry  grinned. 

"Oh,  it  was  dead  easy!  You  see,  after  helping  the 
gang  lick  you  in  the  primaries  last  May,  they 
could  n't  go  back  on  me." 

"If  you  turned  your  influence  to  nobler  use, 
this  would  be  a  very  different  world!  Let  us  go 
back  to  that  Corrigan  matter  —  you  remember?" 
asked  Eaton,  filling  his  pipe.  "You  probably  no 
ticed  that  the  gentleman  who  was  arrested  for 
murder  down  there  was  duly  convicted.  His  lawyer 
did  n't  do  him  much  good.  No  wonder !  I  never  saw 
a  case  more  miserably  handled  —  stupid  beyond 
words." 

"You  wasn't  down  there!"  exclaimed  Jerry, 
sitting  up  straight. 

"Were,  not  was,  Amidon!  I  should  think  you'd 
know  I'd  been  in  the  wilderness  from  my  emaci 
ated  appearance.  Believe  I  did  say  I  was  going 
to  Pittsburg,  but  I  took  the  wrong  train.  Met  some 
nice  chaps  while  I  was  down  there,  —  one  or  two 

142 


THE  AMBITIONS  OF  MR.  AMIDON 

friends  of  yours,  road  agents,  pirates,  commercial 
travelers,  drummers,  —  I  beg  your  pardon!" 

Jerry  was  moved  to  despair.  He  would  never 
be  able  to  surround  himself  with  the  mystery  or 
practice  the  secrecy  that  he  found  so  fascinating 
in  Eaton.  He  had  not  imagined  that  the  lawyer 
would  bother  himself  further  about  Corrigan.  He 
had  read  of  the  conviction  without  emotion,  but  it 
would  never  have  occurred  to  him  that  a  man  so 
busy  as  Eaton  or  so  devoted  to  the  comforts  of  life 
would  spend  three  days  in  Belleville  merely  to 
watch  the  trial  of  a  man  in  whom  he  had  only  the 
remotest  interest. 

"They  soaked  him  for  manslaughter.  I  guess  he 
got  off  easy!" 

"He  did,  indeed,"  replied  Eaton.  "When  did 
you  see  Nan  last?" 

"  I  've  been  there  once  since  you  took  me,  and  the 
old  man  sent  down  word  he  wanted  to  see  me.  He 
was  feeling  good  and  lit  into  me  about  the  store. 
Wanted  to  know  about  everything.  Some  of  the 
fellows  Copeland  has  kicked  out  have  been  up  cry 
ing  on  Farley's  doorstep  and  he  asked  me  how  the 
boss  came  to  let  them  go.  He  sent  Nan  out  of  the 
room  so  he  could  cuss  better.  He's  sure  some 
cusser!" 

"Amidon!"  Eaton  beat  his  knuckles  on  the  desk 
sharply,  "remember  you  are  speaking  English!" 

"You  'd  better  give  me  up,"  moaned  Jerry,  crest 
fallen. 

143 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"You  are  doing  well.  With  patience  and  care 
you  will  improve  the  quality  of  your  diction.  No 
reference  to  the  Corrigan  matter,  I  suppose,  — 
either  by  Farley  or  Nan?" 

"Not  a  word.  It  was  the  night  I  read  about  the 
end  of  the  trial,  but  nothing  was  said  about  it." 

"She  need  n't  have  worried,"  Eaton  remarked. 
11  She  was  a  very  foolish  little  girl  to  have  drawn 
her  money  out  of  the  bank  to  hand  over  to  a 
crooked  lawyer." 

"  I  suppose  you  coaxed  the  money  back  — 

"Certainly  not!  It  might  have  been  amusing  to 
gather  Harlowe  in  for  blackmail;  but  you  can 
see  that  it  would  have  involved  no  end  of  news 
paper  notoriety ;  most  disagreeable.  I  had  the  best 
opportunities  for  observing  that  fellow  in  his  con 
duct  of  the  case;  in  fact,  I  had  a  letter  to  the  judge 
and  he  asked  me  to  sit  with  him  on  the  bench. 
There's  little  in  the  life  or  public  services  of  Jason 
E.  Harlowe  that  I  don't  know."  He  lifted  his  eyes 
to  the  solid  wall  of  file-boxes.  "H-66  is  filled  with 
data.  Jason  E.  Harlowe,"  he  repeated  musingly. 
"If  I  should  die  to-night,  kindly  direct  my  ex 
ecutor  to  observe  that  box  particularly." 

"I've  heard  of  him;  he  ran  for  the  legislature 
last  year  and  got  licked." 

"By  two  hundred  and  sixteen  votes,"  added 
Eaton. 

"What's  your  guess  about  that  thousand  bucks? 
Corrigan  must  have  put  Harlowe  up  to  it." 

144 


THE  AMBITIONS  OF  MR.  AMIDON 

"He  did  not,"  replied  Eaton,  peering  for  a  mo 
ment  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  "  It  was  Mr.  Har- 
lowe's  idea  —  strictly  so.  And  I  'm  ready  for  him 
in  case  he  shows  his  hand  again.  Farley  has  some 
relations  down  that  way,  a  couple  of  cousins  at 
Lawrenceburg.  Do  you  follow  me?  Harlowe  may 
have  something  bigger  up  his  sleeve.  He  ranges 
the  whole  Indiana  shore  of  the  Ohio;  business 
mostly  criminal.  The  more  I  Ve  thought  of  that 
thousand-dollar  episode,  the  less  I  Ve  liked  it.  I 
take  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  Nan,  you  know. 
She's  a  little  brash  and  needs  a  helping  hand  oc 
casionally.  Not  that  I'm  called  upon  to  stand  in 
loco  parentis,  but  there 's  something  mighty  appeal 
ing  in  her.  For  fear  you  may  misunderstand  me,  I 
assure  you  that  I  am  not  in  love  with  her,  or  in 
danger  of  being;  but  her  position  is  difficult  and 
made  the  more  so  by  her  impulsive,  warm-hearted 
nature.  And  it  has  told  against  her  a  little  that 
the  Parleys  were  never  quite  admitted  to  the  inner 
circle  here.  This  is  a  peculiar  town,  you  know, 
Amidon,  and  there's  a  good  deal  of  caste  feeling 
—  deplorable  but  true !  You  and  I  are  sturdy  demo 
crats  and  above  such  prejudices,  but  there  are  a 
few  people  amongst  us  who  never  forget  what  you 
may  call  their  position.  Unfortunate,  but  it 's  here 
and  to  be  reckoned  with." 

"Well,  I  guess  Nan's  as  good  as  any  of  them," 
said  Amidon  doggedly. 

"She  is !  But  it 's  the  elemental  strain  in  her  that 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

makes  her  interesting.  She's  of  the  race  that  be 
lieves  in  fairies;  we  have  to  take  that  into  account." 

Amidon  nodded  soberly.  He  had  seen  nothing  in 
Nan  to  support  this  proposition  that  she  believed 
in  fairies,  but  the  idea  pleased  him. 

Eaton's  way  of  speaking  of  women  was  another 
thing  that  impressed  Jerry.  It  was  always  with 
profound  respect,  and  this  was  unfamiliar  enough 
in  Jerry's  previous  existence;  but  combined  with 
this  reverential  attitude  was  a  chivalrous  anxiety 
to  serve  or  protect  them.  The  girls  Jerry  had 
known,  or  the  ones  he  particularly  admired,  were 
those  endowed  with  a  special  genius  for  taking 
care  of  themselves. 

"Nan,"  Eaton  was  saying,  "needs  plenty  of  air. 
She  has  suffered  from  claustrophobia  in  her  life 
with  the  Parleys.  Oh,  yes;  claustrophobia  —  " 

He  paused  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  word, 
which  Jerry  scribbled  on  an  envelope  that  he  might 
remember  it  and  use  it  somewhere  when  oppor 
tunity  offered. 

"I'm  glad  Farley  talked  to  you.  You  will  find 
that  he  will  ask  to  see  you  again,  but  be  careful 
what  you  say  to  him  about  the  store.  He'll  be 
anxious  to  worm  information  out  of  you,  but  he's 
the  sort  to  distrust  you  if  you  seemed  anxious  to 
talk  against  the  house  or  the  head  of  it,  much  as  he 
may  dislike  him." 

"I  guess  that's  right,"  said  Jerry.  "He  asked 
about  the  customers  on  the  route  I  worked  last 

146 


THE  AMBITIONS  OF  MR.  AMIDON 

year  and  seemed  to  know  them  all  —  even  to  the 
number  of  children  in  the  family." 

"You've  been  back  once  since  we  called  to 
gether?  Anybody  else  around  —  any  signs  that 
Nan  is  receiving  social  attentions?" 

"I  did  n't  see  any.  She'd  been  reading  'Huck 
Finn'  to  the  old  gent  when  I  dropped  in." 

"Isolated  life;  not  wholesome.  A  girl  like  that 
needs  to  have  people  about  her." 

"Well,"  Jerry  ejaculated,  "she  doesn't  need  a 
scrub  like  me!  I  felt  ashamed  of  myself  for  going; 
and  had  to  walk  around  the  block  about  seven 
times  before  I  got  my  nerve  up  to  go  in.  It's 
awful,  going  into  a  house  like  that,  and  waiting  for 
the  coon  to  go  off  to  see  whether  the  folks  want  to 
see  you  or  not." 

"The  trepidation  you  indicate  is  creditable  to 
you,  Amidon.  Your  social  instincts  are  crude  but 
sound.  Should  you  say,  as  a  student  of  mankind 
and  an  observer  of  life,  that  Nan  is  pining  away  with 
a  broken  heart?" 

"Well,  hardly;  she  was  a  lot  cheerfuler  than  she 
was  that  first  time,  when  you  went  with  me." 

"Thanks  for  the  compliment!  Of  course,  you 
get  on  better  without  me.  'T  was  always  thus! 
Well,  that  first  time  was  hardly  a  fair  example  of 
my  effect  upon  womankind.  The  air  was  sur 
charged  with  electricity;  Nan  had  made  a  trifling 
error  of  judgment  and  had  been  brought  promptly 
to  book.  I  've  always  rather  admired  people  who 

147 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

follow  their  impulses;  it's  my  disposition  to  ex 
amine  my  own  under  the  microscope.  Don't  check 
yourself  too  much :  I  find  your  spontaneity  refresh 
ing,  particularly  now  that  your  verbs  and  nouns 
are  more  nearly  in  agreement.  You  say  Copeland 
and  Kinney  are  off  motoring,  to  look  at  a  new 
factory?"  He  lifted  his  eyes  to  one  of  the  file- 
boxes  absently.  "  I  wish  they'd  wait  till  we  get  rid 
of  that  suit  over  Kinney's  patents  before  they 
spread  out.  The  case  ought  to  be  decided  soon  and 
there  are  times  — " 

He  rose  quickly,  walked  to  the  shelves  and  drew 
down  a  volume  in  which  he  instantly  became  ab 
sorbed.  Then  he  went  back  to  his  desk  and  refilled 
his  pipe  deliberately. 

"I  think,"  he  remarked,  "that  we  shall  win  the 
case;  but  you  never  can  tell.  By  the  way,  what  is 
your  impartial  judgment  of  the  merits  of  Corbin 
&  Eichberg  —  rather  wide-awake  fellows,  are  n't 
they?" 

As  Jerry  began  to  express  scorn  by  a  contemp 
tuous  curl  of  the  lip  and  an  outward  gesture  of  his 
stiffened  palm,  Eaton  reprimanded  him  sharply. 

"Speak  judicially;  no  bluster;  none  of  this  whang 
about  their  handling  inferior  goods.  The  fact  is  they 
are  almost  offensively  prosperous  and  carry  more 
traveling  men  after  ten  years'  business  than  Cope- 
land-Farley  with  thirty  years  behind  them." 

"Well,"  Jerry  replied  meekly,  "I  guess  they 
are  cutting  in  a  little;  Eichberg  had  made  a  lot  of 

148 


THE  AMBITIONS  OF  MR.  AMIDON 

money  before  he  went  into  drugs  and  they  Ve  got 
more  capital  than  C-F." 

"That  increases  the  danger  of  the  competition. 
Eichberg  is  a  pretty  solid  citizen.  For  example,  he 's 
a  director  in  the  Western  National." 

"I  guess  that  won't  help  him  sell  any  drugs," 
said  Amidon,  who  resented  this  indirect  praise  of 
Corbin  &  Eichberg. 

"Not  directly;  no."  And  Eaton  dropped  the 
subject  with  a  finality  Jerry  felt  bound  to  accept. 

Foreman  had  intimated  that  in  due  course  Cope- 
land-Farley  would  be  absorbed  by  Corbin  &  Eich 
berg  ;  possibly  the  same  calamity  was  foreshadowed 
in  Eaton's  speculations. 

Before  he  returned  to  his  boarding-house  Jerry 
strolled  into  the  jobbing  district  and  stood  for 
some  time  on  the  sidewalk  opposite  Copeland- 
Farley's  store.  His  twenty  shares  of  stock  gave 
him  an  exalted  sense  of  proprietorship.  He  was 
making  progress;  he  was  a  stockholder  in  a  cor 
poration.  But  it  was  a  corporation  that  was  un 
doubtedly  going  to  the  bad. 

It  was  quite  true  that  Corbin  &  Eichberg  were 
making  heavy  inroads  upon  Copeland-Farley  trade. 
They  were  broadening  the  field  of  their  operations 
and  developing  territory  beyond  the  farthest  limits 
to  which  Copeland-Farley  had  extended  local  drug 
jobbing.  It  was  not  a  debatable  matter  that  if 
Copeland  persisted  in  his  evil  courses  the  business 
would  go  by  the  board. 

149 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Copeland  had  n't  been  brought  up  to  work;  that 
was  his  trouble,  Jerry  philosophized.  And  yet 
Copeland  was  doing  better.  As  Jerry  thought  of 
him  his  attitude  became  paternal.  He  grinned  as 
he  became  conscious  of  his  dreams  of  attempting 
—  he,  Jeremiah  Amidon  — to  pull  Billy  Copeland 
back  from  the  pit  for  which  he  seemed  destined, 
and  save  the  house  of  Copeland-Farley  from  ruin. 

He  crossed  the  street,  found  the  private  watch 
man  sitting  in  the  open  door  half  asleep,  roused  him, 
and  gave  him  a  cigar  he  had  purchased  for  the 
purpose. 

Then  he  walked  away  whistling  cheerfully  and 
beating  the  walk  with  his  stick. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CANOEING 

LIFE  began  to  move  more  briskly  for  Nan.  She 
was  not  aware  that  certain  invitations  that  reached 
her  were  due  to  a  few  words  carefully  spoken  in 
safe  quarters  by  Eaton. 

One  of  the  first  large  functions  of  the  dawning 
season  was  a  tea  given  by  Mrs.  Harrington  for  a 
visitor.  Mrs.  Harrington  not  only  asked  Nan  to 
assist,  but  she  extended  the  invitation  personally 
in  the  Farley  parlor,  much  to  Nan's  astonishment. 

One  or  two  young  gentlemen  who  had  paid  Nan 
attentions  when  she  first  came  home  from  school 
looked  her  up  again.  John  Cecil  Eaton  was  highly 
regarded  by  the  younger  men  he  met  at  the  Uni 
versity  Club,  and  was  not  without  influence.  A 
reference  to  Nan  as  an  unusual  person ;  some  saying 
of  hers,  quoted  carelessly  at  the  round  table,  was 
instrumental  in  directing  attention  anew  to  her  as 
a  girl  worth  knowing.  If  any  one  said,  "How 's  her 
affair  with  Copeland  going?"  Eaton  would  retort, 
icily,  that  it  wasn't  going;  that  there  never  had 
been  anything  in  it  but  shameless  gossip. 

Jerry  now  reserved  his  Thursday  evenings  for 
Nan:  not  for  any  particular  reason  except  that 
Eaton  had  taken  him  to  the  Parleys  on  a  Thurs- 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

day  and  from  sentimental  considerations  he  con 
secrated  the  day  to  repetitions  of  the  visit.  Nan 
was  immensely  kind  to  him ;  it  was  incredible  that 
a  girl  so  separated  from  him  by  immeasurable  dis 
tances  should  be  so  cordial,  so  responsive  to  his 
overtures  of  friendship.  Once  she  sent  him  a  note 
—  the  frankest,  friendliest  imaginable  note —  to  say 
that  on  a  particular  Thursday  evening  she  could 
not  see  him.  His  disappointment  was  as  nothing 
when  weighed  against  his  joy  that  she  recognized 
his  claim  upon  that  particular  evening  and  took  the 
trouble  to  explain  that  the  nurse  would  be  out  and 
that  she  would  be  too  busy  with  Farley  to  see  him. 
He  replied  with  flowers  —  which  brought  him  an 
other  note. 

He  had  laid  before  her  all  his  plans  for  self-im 
provement  and  her  encouragement  was  even  more 
stimulating  than  Eaton's.  She  fell  at  times  into 
a  maternal  attitude  toward  him,  scolding  and  lec 
turing  him,  and  he  was  meek  under  her  criticism. 

Nan  felt  more  at  home  with  him  than  with  any 
other  young  man  who  called  on  her.  With  some  of 
these,  whose  mothers  and  sisters  had  been  treating 
her  coldly,  she  felt  herself  to  be  playing  a  part  — 
trying  to  assume  a  dignity  that  was  not  naturally 
hers  in  order  that  they  might  give  a  good  account 
of  her  at  home.  With  Jerry  she  could  be  herself 
without  dissimulation.  When  it  came  to  mothers, 
he  remembered  her  mother  perfectly  and  she  re 
membered  his.  In  a  sense  she  and  Jerry  were  allies, 

152 


CANOEING 

engaged  in  accommodating  themselves  to  a  some 
what  questioning  if  not  hostile  atmosphere.  In  all 
her  acquaintance  he  was  the  one  person  who  could 
make  the  necessary  allowances  for  her,  who  was 
able  to  give  her  full  credit  for  her  good  intentions. 

On  his  seventh  call  he  summoned  courage  to 
ask  her  to  join  him  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  excur 
sion  on  the  river. 

"The  foliage  is  unusually  beautiful  this  year," 
he  suggested  with  his  air  of  quoting,  "and  it'll  be 
too  cold  for  canoeing  pretty  soon." 

" I'm  afraid  — "  Nan  began. 

"I  knew  you'd  say  that;  but  you're  as  safe  in 
my  boat  as  in  your  own  rocking-chair." 

"  I  was  n't  going  to  say  that,"  laughed  Nan.  "  I 
was  going  to  say  that  I  was  afraid  you  would  n't 
enjoy  the  foliage  so  much  if  I  were  along." 

He  saw  that  she  was  laughing  at  him.  Nan  and 
Eaton  were  the  only  persons  whose  mirth  he  suf 
fered  without  resentment. 

" I'll  have  to  ask  papa  about  it;  or  maybe  you '11 
ask  him." 

"  I  Ve  already  asked  him." 

"When  did  you  ask  him?" 

"About  ten  minutes  ago,  just  before  I  came  down 
stairs.  I  told  him  two  good  stories  and  then  shot 
it  in  quick.  He  said  he  thought  it  would  do  you 
good!" 

"I  like  your  nerve!  Why  didn't  you  ask  me 
first?" 

153 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Because  it  was  much  more  proper  for  me  to 
open  negotiations  with  the  man  higher  up.  I  hope 
you  appreciate  my  delicacy,"  he  added,  in  Eaton's 
familiar,  half-mocking  tone,  which  he  had  caught 
perfectly. 

"You're  so  thoughtful  I  suppose  you've  also 
arranged  for  a  chaperone?" 

"The  canoe,"  he  replied,  "is  more  comfortable 
for  two." 

"Two  have  been  in  it  rather  often,  I  suppose." 

"Yes;  but  that  was  last  summer.  I've  seen 
everything  different  this  season.  I  practiced  casting 
on  a  day  in  June  and  met  with  an  experience  that 
has  changed  the  whole  current  of  my  life." 

"  I  hope  it  changed  your  luck  with  the  rod!  You 
got  snagged  on  everything  that  would  hold  a  hook, 
but  I  must  say  that  you  bore  your  troubles  in  a 
sweet  spirit." 

"  I  learned  that  early  in  the  game.  Even  if  you 
refused  my  invitation  I  'd  try  to  bear  up  under  it." 

"I  think  I'll  decline,  then,  just  to  see  how  you 
take  it." 

"Well,  it's  only  polite  to  say  it  would  be  a  blow. 
I  have  a  pocketful  of  strychnine  and  it  might  be 
unpleasant  to  have  me  die  on  the  doorstep." 

"I  could  stand  that  probably  better  than  the 
neighbors  could.  You'd  better  try  a  poison  that's 
warranted  not  to  kill  on  the  premises." 

Jerry  tortured  himself  with  speculations  as  to 
whether  he  should  hire  a  taxi  to  transport  them  to 

154 


CANOEING 

the  Little  Ripple  Club,  but  finally  decided  against 
it  as  an  unwarranted  extravagance,  calculated  to 
arouse  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  Farley.  However, 
when  he  reached  the  house  at  two  o'clock  on  Satur 
day,  Nan  announced  that  the  nurse  was  taking  her 
place  as  Farley's  companion  for  his  regular  drive 
and  that  they  would  carry  them  to  the  club.  This 
arrangement  caused  his  breast  to  swell. 

"That  will  give  my  credit  a  big  boost;  you'll  see 
a  lot  of  the  boys  drop  dead  when  we  roll  up  with 
Uncle  Tim." 

Farley  alighted  to  inspect  the  clubhouse  and  the 
fleet  of  canoes  that  bobbed  at  the  landing.  It  was 
a  great  day  for  Jerry. 

"There's  something  nice  about  a  river,"  said 
Nan,  as  Jerry  sent  his  maroon-colored  craft  far 
out  into  the  stream.  "  Ever  since  I  came  away  I  've 
missed  the  old  river  at  Belleville." 

This  was  one  of  the  things  he  liked  about  Nan. 
She  referred  often  to  her  childhood,  and  it  even 
seemed  that  she  spoke  of  it  with  a  certain  wistful- 
ness. 

"The  last  girl  I  had  out  here,"  Jerry  said  as  he 
plied  his  blade,  "was  Katie  McCarthy,  who  works 
in  the  County  Treasurer's  office  —  mighty  respon 
sible  job.  I  used  to  know  Katie  when  she  stenogged 
at  four  per  for  a  punk  lawyer,  but  I  knew  she 
was  better  than  that,  so  I  pulled  a  few  wires  and 
got  her  into  the  court-house.  Katie  could  be 
cashier  in  a  bank  —  she's  that  smart!  No;  not 

155 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

much  to  look  at.  I  studied  Katie's  case  a  good 
deal,  and  she'd  never  make  any  headway  in 
offices  where  they'd  rather  have  a  yellow-haired 
girl  who  overdresses  the  part  and  is  always  slipping 
out  for  a  retouch  with  the  chamois.  It 's  hard  to  find 
a  job  for  girls  like  Katie;  their  only  chance  is  some 
place  where  they  Ve  got  to  have  a  girl  with  brains. 
These  perfumed  office  darlings,  that's  just  got  to 
go  to  vaudeville  every  Monday  night  so  they  can 
talk  about  it  the  rest  of  the  week,  never  get  any 
where." 

"My  heart  warms  to  Katie.  I  wonder,"  mur 
mured  Nan  lazily,  as  Jerry  neatly  negotiated  a 
shallow  passage  between  two  sandbars,  "if  I  had 
to  do  it  —  I  wonder  how  much  I  could  earn  a 
week." 

"Oh,  I  guess  you'd  make  good  all  right.  You've 
got  brains  and  I  've  never  caught  you  touching  up 
your  complexion." 

"Which  isn't  any  sign  I  don't,"  she  laughed. 
"I've  all  the  necessary  articles  right  here  in  my 
sweater  pocket." 

"Well,  somebody  has  to  use  the  talcum;  we 
handle  it  in  carload  lots.  It 's  one  of  the  Copeland- 
Farley  specialties  I  used  to  brag  about  easiest  when 
I  bore  the  weighty  sample-case  down  the  line.  It 
was  a  good  stunt  to  ask  the  druggist  to  introduce 
me  to  some  of  the  girls  that 's  always  loafing  round 
the  soda-counter  in  country-town  drug  stores,  and 
I  'd  hand  'em  out  a  box  and  ask  'em  to  try  it  on 

156 


CANOEING 

right  there.  It  cheered  up  the  druggist  and  the  girls 
would  help  me  pull  a  bigger  order  than  I  'd  get  on 
my  own  hook.  A  party  like  that  on  a  sleepy  after 
noon  in  a  pill-shop  would  lift  the  sky-line  consider 
able." 

"Well,  if  you  saw  me  in  a  drug  store  wrestling 
with  a  chocolate  sundae  and  had  your  sample-case 
open  and  were  trying  to  coax  an  order  out  of  a 
druggist,  just  how  would  you  approach  me?" 

"I  wouldn't!"  he  responded  readily.  "I'd  get 
your  number  on  the  quiet  and  walk  past  your  house 
when  your  mother  was  sitting  on  the  porch  all  alone, 
darning  socks,  and  I  'd  beg  her  pardon  and  say  that, 
having  heard  that  her  daughter  was  the  most  beau 
tiful  girl  in  town,  Copeland-Farley  had  sent  me  all 
the  way  from  the  capital  to  ask  her  please  to  accept, 
with  the  house's  compliments,  a  gross  of  our  Fault 
less  Talcum.  If  mother  did  n't  ask  me  to  supper, 
it  would  be  a  sign  that  I  had  n't  put  it  over." 

"But  if  father  appeared  with  a  shotgun  - 

"  I  'd  tell  him  it  was  the  closed  season  for  drum 
mers,  and  invite  him  down  to  the  hotel  for  a  game 
of  billiards." 

"You  think  you  always  have  the  answer,  don't 
you?"  she  taunted. 

"I  don't  think  it;  I've  got  to  know  it!" 

"Well,  I  haven't  seen  you  miss  fire  yet.  My 
trouble  is,"  she  deliberated,  touching  the  water 
lightly  with  her  hand,  "  that  I  don't  have  the  an 
swer  most  of  the  time." 

157 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"  I  've  noticed  it  sometimes,"  replied  Jerry,  look 
ing  at  her  quickly. 

It  was  unseasonably  warm,  and  he  drove  the 
canoe  on  to  a  sandy  shore  in  the  shade  of  the 
bank.  He  had  confessed  to  himself  that  at  times, 
even  in  their  juvenile  badgering,  Nan  baffled  him. 
From  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance  he  had 
noted  abrupt  changes  of  mood  that  puzzled  him. 
Occasionally,  in  the  midst  of  the  aimless  banter  in 
which  they  engaged,  she  would  cease  to  respond 
and  a  far-away  look  would  come  into  her  violet 
eyes.  One  of  these  moods  was  upon  her  now. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  shanty-boat  people  down 
along  the  river?  I  used  to  think  it  would  be  fun  to 
live  like  that.  I  still  feel  that  way  sometimes." 

"Oh,"  he  answered  indulgently,  "I  guess  every 
body  has  a  spell  of  that  now  and  then,  when  you 
just  want  to  sort  of  loaf  along,  and  fish  a  little  when 
you're  hungry,  and  trust  to  luck  for  a  handout  at 
some  back  door  when  you're  too  lazy  to  bait  the 
hook.  That  feeling  gets  hold  of  me  lots  of  times; 
but  I  shake  it  off  pretty  soon.  You  don't  get  any 
where  loafing ;  the  people  that  get  along  have  got  to 
hustle.  Cecil  says  we  can't  just  mark  time  in  this 
world.  We  either  go  ahead  or  slide  back." 

"Well,  I'm  a  slider  —  if  you  can  slide  without 
ever  getting  up  very  far!  " 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  drawing  in  the  paddle  and 
fixing  his  eyes  upon  her  intently,  "you  said  some 
thing  like  that  the  first  night  Cecil  took  me  up  to  see 

158 


CANOEING 

you,  and  you  Ve  got  a  touch  of  it  again ;  but  it 's  the 
wrong  talk.  I  'm  going  to  hand  it  to  you  straight, 
because  I  guess  I  Ve  got  more  nerve  than  anybody 
else  you  know:  you  have  n't  got  a  kick  coming,  and 
you  want  to  cut  all  that  talk.  Uncle  Tim  gets  cross 
sometimes,  but  you  don't  want  to  worry  about  that 
too  much.  He  used  to  be  meaner  than  fleas  at  the 
store  sometimes,  but  the  boys  never  worried  about 
it.  He 's  all  sound  inside,  and  if  he  riles  you  the  best 
thing  to  do  is  to  forget  it.  You  can't  please  him 
all  the  time,  but  you  can  most  of  the  time,  and  it 's 
up  to  you  to  do  it.  Now,  tell  me  to  jump  in  the 
river  if  you  want  to,  but  it  was  in  my  system  and 
I  had  to  get  it  out." 

"Oh,  I  know  I  ought  to  be  grateful;  but  I'm 
wrong  some  way." 

"You're  all  right,"  he  declared.  "Your  trouble 
is  you  don't  have  enough  to  do.  You  ought  to  get 
interested  in  something  —  something  that  would 
keep  you  busy  and  whistling  all  the  time." 

"I  don't  have  enough  to  do;  I  know  that."  she 
assented. 

"Well,  you  ought  to  go  in  good  and  strong  for 
something;  that's  the  only  ticket.  Let's  get  out 
and  climb  the  bank  and  walk  awhile." 

She  had  lost  her  bearings  on  the  river,  but  when 
they  had  clambered  to  the  top  of  the  bank  she  found 
that  they  were  near  the  Kinneys'.  The  road  was 
a  much-frequented  highway,  and  she  was  sorry  now 
that  they  had  left  the  canoe;  but  Jerry,  leading  the 

159 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

way  along  a  rough  path  that  clung  close  to  the  river, 
continued  to  philosophize,  wholly  unconscious  of 
the  neighborhood's  associations  for  Nan. 

Where  the  margin  between  the  river  and  the 
road  widened  they  sat  on  a  log  while  Jerry  ampli 
fied  his  views  of  life,  with  discreet  applications  to 
Nan's  case  as  he  understood  it.  He  was  a  cheery 
and  hopeful  soul,  and  in  the  light  of  her  knowledge 
of  him  she  marveled  at  his  clear  understanding  of 
things.  He  confided  to  her  that  he  meant  to  get  on ; 
he  wanted  to  be  somebody.  She  was  wholly  sym 
pathetic  and  told  him  that  he  had  already  done  a 
great  deal ;  he  had  done  a  lot  better  than  she  had ; 
and  it  counted  for  more  because  no  one  had  helped 
him. 

As  they  passed  the  Kinneys'  on  their  way  back 
to  the  canoe,  a  roadster  whizzed  out  of  the  gate  and 
turned  toward  town.  They  both  recognized  Cope- 
land.  As  he  passed,  his  eyes  fell  upon  them  care 
lessly;  then  he  glanced  back  and  slowed  down. 

''Now  we're  in  for  it!"  said  Nan  uncomfort 
ably. 

"I  guess  I'm  the  one  that's  in  for  it,"  returned 
Jerry  ruefully. 

Copeland  left  his  car  at  the  roadside  and  walked 
rapidly  toward  them.  He  nodded  affably  to  Jerry 
and  extended  his  hand  eagerly  to  Nan. 

"This  is  great  good  luck!  Grace  is  at  home;  why 
did  n't  you  come  in  ?  " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Amidon  is  showing  me  the  river;  we 
160 


CANOEING 

just  left  the  canoe  to  come  up  for  a  view  from  the 
bank." 

"Why  not  come  back  to  Kinneys';  I  want  to  see 
you;  and  this  is  a  fine  chance  to  have  a  talk." 

Jerry  walked  away  and  began  throwing  pebbles 
into  the  river. 

"I  can't  do  that.  And  I  can't  talk  to  you  here. 
Papa  drove  me  out  and  he's  likely  to  come  back 
this  way." 

"  You  seem  to  be  pretty  chummy  with  that  clerk 
of  mine,"  Copeland  remarked. 

"I  am;  it  began  about  sixteen  years  ago,"  she 
answered,  with  a  laugh.  "We  rose  from  the  same 
ash-dump." 

He  frowned,  not  comprehending.  She  was  about 
to  turn  away  when  he  began  speaking  rapidly :  — 

"You've  got  to  hear  me,  Nan!  I  have  n't  both 
ered  you  for  a  long  time ;  you  've  treated  me  pretty 
shabbily  after  all  there's  been  between  us;  but  you 
can  square  all  that  now.  I  'm  in  the  deepest  kind  of 
trouble.  Farley  deliberately  planned  to  ruin  me  and 
he 's  about  done  it !  I  've  paid  him  off,  but  I  had  to 
pledge  half  my  stock  in  the  store  with  the  Western 
National  to  raise  the  money,  and  now  my  notes  are 
due  there  and  they  're  going  to  pinch  me.  Eichberg 
is  a  director  in  the  bank  and  he  means  to  buy  in 
that  stock  —  you  can  see  the  game.  Corbin  &  Eich 
berg  are  scheming  to  wipe  me  out  and  combine  the 
two  houses.  And  Farley's  put  them  up  to  it!" 

His  face  twisted  nervously  as  he  talked.  He  was 
161 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE   PUDDING 

thinner  than  when  she  saw  him  last,  but  he  bore  no 
marks  of  hard  living.  His  story  was  plausible ;  Far 
ley  had  told  her  a  month  ago  that  he  had  got  his 
money  out  of  Copeland,  but  it  had  n't  occurred  to 
her  that  the  loan  might  have  been  paid  with  money 
borrowed  elsewhere. 

"Of  course,  you  won't  lose  the  business,  Billy. 
It  would  n't  be  square  to  treat  you  that  way." 

"Square !  I  tell  you  it  was  all  framed  up,  and  I  Ve 
reason  to  know  that  Farley  stands  in  with  them. 
It 's  a  fine  revenge  he 's  taking  on  me  for  daring  to 
love  you!" 

She  shook  her  head  and  drew  further  away  from 
him. 

"Now,  Billy,  none  of  that!   That's  all  over." 

"No;  it  is  n't  over!  You  know  it  is  n't,  Nan !  I've 
missed  you ;  it  cut  me  deep  when  you  dropped  me. 
You  let  Farley  tell  you  I  was  all  bad  and  going  to 
the  dogs  and  you  did  n't  even  give  me  a  chance  to 
defend  myself.  I  tell  you  I  Ve  suffered  hell's  tor 
ments  since  I  saw  you  last.  But  now  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  you  do  care.  Please,  dear  - 

His  voice  broke  plaintively.  She  shook  her  head. 

"Of  course  we  were  good  friends,  Billy;  but  you 
knew  we  had  to  quit.  It  was  wrong  all  the  time  — 
you  knew  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

" I  don't  see  what  was  wrong  about  it!  It  can't 
be  wrong  for  a  man  to  love  a  woman  as  I  love  you ! 
If  you  had  n't  cared,  it  would  be  a  different  story, 
but  you  did,  Nan!  And  you're  not  the  girl  I  know 

162 


CANOEING 

you  to  be  if  you've  changed  in  these  few  weeks. 
I  've  got  a  big  fight  on  and  I  want  you  to  stand  by 
me.  Kinney  's  in  all  kinds  of  trouble  with  the  cement 
business.  If  he  goes  down,  I'm  ruined.  But  even 
at  that  you  can  help  me  make  a  new  start.  It  will 
mean  everything  to  have  your  love  and  help." 

He  saw  that  his  appeal  had  touched  her.  She  was 
silent  a  moment. 

"This  won't  do,  Billy;  I  can't  stand  here  talking 
to  you;  but  I'm  sorry  for  your  troubles.  I  can't 
believe  you're  right  about  papa  trying  to  injure 
you ;  he 's  too  fond  of  the  old  business  for  that.  But 
we  were  good  pals  —  you  and  I.  I  '11  try  to  think 
of  some  way  to  help." 

He  caught  her  hands  roughly. 

"  I  need  you ;  you  know  I  love  you !  Farley 's  told 
you  I  want  to  marry  you  for  his  money;  but  you 
can't  tell  anything  about  him.  Very  likely  he'll 
cut  you  out,  anyhow;  he's  likely  to  do  that  very 
thing." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  defiance  shone  for  an 
instant  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  '11  let  you  hear  from  me  within  a  week;  I  must 
have  time  -  But  keep  up  your  spirits,  Billy!" 

The  distant  honking  of  a  motor  caused  her  to 
turn  away  quickly.  Amidon  had  settled  himself 
halfway  down  the  bank  and  she  called  to  him  and 
began  the  descent.  .  .  . 

If  Jerry  had  expressed  his  feelings  he  would  have 
said  that  Copeland's  appearance  had  given  him  a 

163 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

hard  jar.  It  was  annoying,  just  when  you  have 
reached  the  highest  aim  of  your  life,  to  have  your 
feet  knocked  from  under  you.  To  have  your  boss 
spoil  your  afternoon  with  the  prettiest  girl  in  town 
was  not  only  disagreeable,  but  it  roused  countless 
apprehensions. 

For  the  afternoon  was  spoiled.  Nan's  efforts  to 
act  as  though  nothing  had  happened  were  badly 
simulated,  and  finding  that  she  lapsed  frequently 
into  long  reveries,  Jerry  paddled  doggedly  back 
to  the  clubhouse. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LAST   WILLS   AND   TESTAMENTS 

FROM  the  beginning  of  his  infirmities  Farley's 
experiments  in  will-writing  had  taxed  the  patience 
of  Thurston,  his  lawyer.  Within  two  years  he  had 
made  a  dozen  wills,  and  he  kept  them  for  compari 
son  in  a  secret  drawer  of  Mrs.  Farley's  old  sewing- 
table  in  his  room.  He  penciled  cryptic  marks  on 
the  various  envelopes  for  ease  of  identification, 
and  he  was  influenced  often  by  the  most  trivial 
circumstances  in  his  revisions.  If  Nan  irritated  him, 
he  cut  down  her  legacy ;  when  things  went  happily, 
he  increased  it.  He  was  importuned  to  make  be 
quests  to  great  numbers  of  institutions,  by  men  and 
women  he  knew  well,  and  his  attitude  toward  these 
changed  frequently.  There  was  hardly  a  phase  of 
the  laws  of  descent  that  Thurston  had  not  ex 
plained  to  him. 

A  few  days  after  her  river  excursion,  the  colored 
man-of-all-work  handed  Nan  an  envelope  that 
had  dropped  from  Farley's  dressing-gown  as  it  hung 
on  a  clothes-line  in  the  backyard  for  its  periodical 
sunning.  The  envelope  was  unsealed.  In  the  upper 
left-hand  corner  was  the  name  and  address  of 
Thurston  and  in  the  center  were  four  small  crosses 
in  pencil.  Nan  thrust  it  into  a  bureau  drawer, 

165 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

intending  to  restore  it  to  the  dressing-gown  pocket 
when  she  could  do  so  without  attracting  Farley's 
attention. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  it  that  night  as  she  was  pre 
paring  for  bed.  She  laid  it  on  her  dressing-table 
and  studied  the  queer  little  crosses  as  she  brushed 
her  hair. 

Copeland  had  complained  of  Farley's  hardness, 
and  if  Billy  had  told  the  truth  about  the  plight  to 
which  he  had  been  reduced  by  Farley's  refusal  to 
renew  the  last  notes  for  the  purchase  money,  the 
complaint  was  just.  She  crouched  on  a  low  stool 
before  the  table  and  gazed  into  the  reflection  of 
her  eyes. 

She  played  idly  with  the  envelope,  resisting  an 
impulse  to  open  it  for  a  glance  at  the  paper  that 
crinkled  in  her  fingers.  She  had  been  very  "good" 
lately,  and  to  pry  into  affairs  that  Farley  had  sedu 
lously  kept  from  her  was  repugnant  to  her  better 
nature.  .  .  .  Farley's  abuse  of  her  on  the  day  of  the 
luncheon,  and  his  rage  over  her  payment  of  the 
thousand  dollars  for  the  defense  of  her  brother 
came  back  to  her  vividly.  He  had  threatened  to 
make  it  impossible  for  Billy  to  profit  by  marrying 
her.  .  .  .  She  had  a  right  to  know  what  provision 
Farley  meant  to  make  for  her.  If  in  the  end  he  in 
tended  to  throw  her  upon  her  own  resources  or  to 
provide  for  her  in  ways  that  curtailed  her  liberty, 
there  was  every  reason  why  she  should  prepare  to 
meet  the  situation. 

1 66 


LAST  WILLS  AND  TESTAMENTS 

The  paper  slipped  from  the  envelope  and  she 
pressed  it  open. 

I,  Timothy  Farley,  being  of  sound  mind,  — 

She  had  never  seen  a  will  before,  and  the  unfa 
miliar  phraseology  fascinated  her. 

...  in  trust  for  my  daughter,  Nancy  Corrigan 
Farley,  for  a  period  of  twenty  years  from  my  de 
cease,  or  until  the  death  of  said  Nancy  Corrigan 
Farley,  should  said  death  occur  prior  to  the  expira 
tion  of  said  twenty  years,  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  The  income  from  said  sum  shall 
be  paid  to  the  said  Nancy  Corrigan  Farley  on  the 
first  day  of  each  calendar  month.  .  .  . 

Two  hundred  thousand  dollars  he  gave  outright 
to  the  Boys'  Club  Association;  fifty  thousand  to  the 
Children's  Hospital ;  and  ten  thousand  each  to  five 
other  charitable  organizations.  .  .  . 

One  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  trust!  An  in 
come  of  five  or  six  thousand  —  less  than  half  the 
cost  of  maintaining  the  Farley  establishment,  ex 
clusive  of  her  personal  allowance  for  clothes !  And 
this  was  Farley's  idea  of  providing  for  her.  She  had 
always  heard  that  the  act  of  adoption  conferred 
all  the  rights  inherent  in  a  child  of  the  blood;  it 
was  inconceivable  that  Farley  would  deal  in  so 
miserly  a  fashion  with  his  own  daughter. 

167 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

The  will  was  dated  June  17,  a  week  after  the 
row  over  Copeland.  She  had  heard  that  Farley's 
property  approximated  a  million,  and  on  that  basis 
she  was  to  pay  dearly  for  that  day  at  the  Country 
Club! 

The  trusteeship,  —  in  itself  an  insult,  an  adver 
tisement  of  Farley's  lack  of  confidence  in  her,  — 
was  to  continue  for  what  might  be  all  the  years  of 
her  life,  restricting  her  freedom,  fastening  hateful 
bonds  upon  her.  In  case  she  married  and  died 
leaving  children,  the  trusteeship  was  continued 
until  they  attained  their  majority.  A  paltry  hun 
dred  thousand,  and  Farley's  lean  hand  clutched 
even  that! 

Two  hundred  thousand  for  the  Boys'  Club  — 
just  twice  what  he  gave  her  —  and  without  re 
strictions  !  The  Farleys'  love  for  her  was  now  re 
duced  to  exact  figures.  Her  foster-father  meant  to 
humiliate  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  by  a  niggardly 
bequest.  And  he  had  been  protesting  his  love  for 
her  and  permitting  her  to  sacrifice  herself  for  him ! 

The  revelations  of  the  will  reinforced  Copeland's 
arraignment  of  Farley  as  a  harsh  and  vindictive 
man,  who  drove  hard  bargains  and  delighted  in 
vengeance. 

She  lay  awake  for  hours,  torturing  herself  into 
the  belief  that  she  was  the  most  abused  of  beings. 
Then  her  better  nature  asserted  itself.  She  reviewed 
the  generosity  and  kindness  of  her  foster-parents, 
who  had  given  her  a  place  in  the  world  to  which  she 

168 


LAST  WILLS  AND  TESTAMENTS 

felt,  humbly,  that  she  was  not  entitled.  A  hundred 
thousand  dollars  was  more  money  than  she  had  any 
right  to  expect ;  and  the  trusteeship  was  only  a  part 
of  Farley's  kindness  —  a  device  for  safeguarding 
and  protecting  her. 

Then  she  flew  to  the  other  extreme.  He  had 
brought  her  up  as  his  own  child,  encouraging  a 
belief  that  she  would  inherit  his  whole  fortune,  and 
now  he  was  cutting  her  off  with  something  like  a 
tenth  and  contemptuously  bidding  her  beg  for  alms 
at  the  door  of  a  trust  company ! 

She  stared  into  the  dark  until  the  light  crept 
through  her  blinds.  Then  she  slept  until  the  nurse 
called  her  at  eight. 

"Mr.  Farley's  waiting  for  you  to  have  breakfast 
with  him;  how  soon  can  you  be  ready?" 

"  Is  n't  he  so  well?"  Nan  asked  quickly. 

"Nothing  unusual;  but  he  seemed  tired  after  his 
ride  yesterday  and  had  a  bad  night." 

Nan,  sitting  up  in  bed,  thrust  her  hand  under  her 
pillow  and  touched  the  will  guiltily. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  as  the  nurse  crossed  to  the 
windows  and  threw  up  the  shades,  "that  he  may 
have  a  relapse  at  any  time.  The  doctor  prepared 
me  for  that.  Please  order  breakfast  sent  up  and 
tell  papa  I'll  be  ready  in  five  minutes." 

In  her  broodings  of  the  night  she  had  dramatized 
herself  as  confronting  him  in  all  manner  of  situa 
tions,  but  she  was  reluctant  to  face  him  now.  She 
jumped  out  of  bed,  fortified  herself  for  the  day  with 

169 


THE   PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

a  cold  shower,  and  presented  herself  to  him  in  a 
flowered  kimono  as  the  maid  was  laying  the  cloth 
on  the  stand  by  his  bed. 

"Well,  Nan,"  he  said  wearily,  "I  hope  you  had 
a  better  night  than  I  did." 

"Oh,  I  don't  need  much  sleep,"  she  answered. 
"Edison  says  we  all  sleep  too  much,  anyhow." 

"That 's  a  fool  idea.  The  doctor 's  got  to  give  me 
the  dope  again  if  I  have  another  such  night.  I  guess 
there  was  n't  anything  I  did  n't  think  of.  Lyin' 
awake  is  about  as  near  hell  as  I  care  to  go." 

The  querulousness  manifest  in  the  worst  period 
of  his  illness  had  returned.  He  grumbled  at  the 
nurse's  arrangement  of  his  pillows  and  asked  for  a 
tray  in  bed,  saying  he  did  n't  feel  equal  to  sitting 
at  the  table. 

"You  sit  there  where  I  can  look  at  you,  Nan." 

She  was  aglow  from  her  bath  and  showed  no 
trace  of  her  sleepless  night.  It  was  pathetically 
evident  that  her  presence  brought  him  pleasure 
and  relief.  He  had  been  very  happy  of  late,  accept 
ing  fully  her  assurance  that  everything  was  over 
between  her  and  Copeland.  Her  recent  social 
activities  and  the  fact  that  some  of  the  "nice 
people"  were  showing  a  renewed  interest  in  her 
added  to  his  satisfaction.  He  bade  her  talk  as  he 
nibbled  his  toast  and  sipped  his  milk. 

"  I  read  the  newspaper  an  hour  ago  clear  through 
the  births  and  deaths  and  did  n't  see  anything 
very  cheerful.  You  been  followin'  that  Reid  will 

170 


LAST  WILLS  AND  TESTAMENTS 

case  up  at  Cleveland?  I  guess  you  don't  read  the 
papers  much.  You  never  did;  but  you  ought  to 
keep  posted.  Well,  that's  a  mighty  interestin'  case. 
I  guess  the  lawyers  are  goin'  to  get  all  the  money. 
I  knew  old  Reid,  and  he  was  as  sane  a  man  as  ever 
lived.  There  ain't  much  use  in  a  man  tryin'  to 
make  a  will  when  they're  sure  to  tear  it  to  pieces." 

Nan  looked  at  him  quickly.  It  was  possible  that 
he  had  missed  the  will  and  was  speaking  of  wills 
in  general  as  a  prelude  to  pouncing  upon  her  with 
a  question  as  to  whether  she  had  seen  it.  But  he 
was  not  in  a  belligerent  humor.  He  went  on  to 
explain  the  legal  points  involved  in  the  Reid  case. 

"  If  a  lot  o'  rascally  lawyers  get  hold  o'  my  prop 
erty,  I  won't  just  turn  over  in  my  grave;  I'll  keep 
revolvin' !  Reid  tried  to  fix  things  so  his  children 
would  n't  squander  his  money.  His  daughters 
married  fools  and  he  wanted  to  try  and  protect 
'em.  And  just  for  that  they've  had  the  will  set 
aside  on  the  ground  that  Reid  was  crazy." 

Nan  acquiesced  in  his  view  of  this  as  an  outrage. 
And  she  really  believed  that  it  was,  as  Farley  spoke 
of  it. 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  it  ain't  better  just 
to  let  things  go,"  he  continued.  "  I  been  over  this 
will  business  with  Thurston  a  thousand  times,  and 
I'm  never  sure  he  knows  what  he's  talkin'  about. 
Wills  made  by  the  best  lawyers  in  the  country 
seem  to  break  down;  there  ain't  nothin'  sure 
about  it." 

171 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Well,  I  would  n't  worry  about  that,  papa.  Mr. 
Thurston  ought  to  know  about  those  things  if 
anybody  does." 

Ordinarily  he  would  have  combated  this,  as  he 
combated  most  emphatic  statements ;  but  his  will 
ingness  to  let  it  pass  unchallenged  convinced  her 
that  there  had  been  a  sharp  change  for  the  worse  in 
his  condition. 

It  was  the  way  of  her  contradictory  nature  to 
be  moved  to  pity  for  him  in  his  weakness,  and  a 
wave  of  tenderness  swept  her.  After  all,  if  he 
wished  to  cut  her  off  with  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  and  give  the  rest  to  charity  he  had  a  right 
to  do  it. 

She  took  the  tray  from  the  bed,  smoothed  the 
covers  and  passed  her  cool  hand  over  his  hot  fore 
head. 

"Please,  papa,"  she  said,  "don't  bother  about 
business  to-day.  Miss  Rankin  says  it's  only  a  cold, 
but  she  '11  have  to  report  it  to  the  doctor.  I  'm  going 
to  telephone  him  to  drop  in  this  morning." 

He  demurred,  but  not  with  his  usual  venomous 
tirade  against  the  whole  breed  of  doctors. 

"All  right,  Nan,"  he  said,  clinging  to  her  hand. 
4 'And  I  wish  you'd  tell  Thurston  to  come  in  this 
afternoon.  I  want  to  talk  to  him  about  some 
matters." 

"Well,  we'll  see  the  doctor  first,  papa.  We  can 
have  Mr.  Thurston  in  any  time." 

She  knelt  impulsively  beside  the  bed. 
172 


LAST  WILLS  AND  TESTAMENTS 

"I  want  you  to  know,  papa,  about  wills  and 
things  like  that,  that  I  don't  want  you  to  bother 
about  me.  I  hope  we  're  going  to  live  on  together 
for  long,  long  years.  And  anything  you  mean  to  do 
for  me  is  all  right." 

She  hardly  knew  herself  as  she  said  this.  It  was 
an  involuntary  utterance;  something  she  could 
not  have  imagined  herself  saying  a  few  hours  earlier 
as  she  lay  in  bed  hating  him  for  his  meanness. 

"Well,  dear,  I  want  to  do  the  right  thing  by  you. 
It's  worried  me  a  lot,  tryin'  to  decide  the  best  way. 
I  don't  want  to  leave  any  trouble  behind  me  for 
you  to  settle.  And  I  don't  want  to  do  anything 
that  '11  make  you  think  hard  o'  me.  I  want  to  be 
sure  you  never  come  to  want :  that 's  what 's  wor 
ried  me.  I  want  you  to  be  happy  and  comfortable, 
little  girl." 

"  I  know  you  do,  papa,"  she  replied.  "  But  don't 
bother  about  those  things  now." 

The  nurse  came  in  to  take  his  temperature.  Nan 
went  to  her  room  for  the  will  and,  feigning  to  be 
straightening  some  of  the  things  in  his  closet,  she 
thrust  the  paper  into  the  dressing-gown  pocket. 

An  hour  later  the  Kinney's  chauffeur  left  a  note 
from  Grace :  - 

Come  out  this  afternoon  at  any  hour  you  can. 
Telephone  me  where  to  meet  you  downtown  and 
I  '11  bring  you  out  in  the  car.  I  need  n't  explain 
why,  but  after  Saturday  you  '11  understand. 

173 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

The  doctor  found  nothing  alarming  in  Farley's 
condition,  but  ordered  him  to  remain  in  bed  for  a 
few  days.  He  said  he  must  have  sleep  and  pre 
scribed  an  opiate. 

At  three  o'clock  Nan  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   KINNEY  LARK  AND   ITS    CONSEQUENCES 

"IT'S  certainly  good  to  see  you  again!"  Mrs. 
Kinney  exclaimed  as  Nan  met  her  by  arrangement 
at  a  confectioner's.  "How  much  time  are  you 
going  to  give  me?" 

"Oh,  I  have  n't  any,"  laughed  Nan.  "I've  run 
away.  Papa  isn't  so  well  to-day  and  could  n't  take 
his  drive  as  usual,  so  I'm  truanting  —  and  very 
naughty.  I  must  be  back  in  the  house  before  five." 

"Well,  when  I  got  your  message  I  telephoned 
Billy  to  come  to  the  house  and  he'll  be  there  as 
soon  as  we  are.  He 's  been  in  the  depths  for  weeks. 
You  know  you  had  got  a  mighty  strong  hold  on 
dear  old  Billy,  and  when  you  dropped  him  it  hurt. 
And  we've  all  missed  you!" 

The  Kinneys  and  their  friends  had  missed  her; 
they  had  missed  her  dash,  her  antics  —  the  Nan  she 
had  resolved  to  be  no  more.  But  it  was  pleasant 
to  be  in  Mrs.  Kinney's  company  again.  She  was  a 
simple,  friendly  soul  who  liked  clothes  and  a  good 
time;  her  capacity  for  enjoying  anything  serious 
was  wholly  negligible. 

"  I  knew,  of  course,  that  Billy  was  back  of  your 
invitation.  I  saw  him  Saturday  —  quite  accident 
ally,  and  he  was  bluer  than  indigo." 

175 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"He  spent  Sunday  with  us  and  told  us  all  about 
meeting  you.  He  was  perfectly  furious  because  you 
were  out  skylarking  with  one  of  his  clerks!  But  he 
got  to  laughing  about  it,  —  told  us  some  funny 
stories  about  your  new  suitor, — Jerry,  is  that  the 
name?" 

"Mr.  Jeremiah  Amidon,  please,"  laughed  Nan. 
"  It  was  killing  that  Billy  should  find  me  out  canoe 
ing  with  him.  Jerry  and  I  were  kids  together,  and 
he's  grown  to  be  a  great  consolation  to  me." 

"He  must  be  a  consolation  to  Billy,  too;  he  says 
the  youngster's  trying  to  reform  him!"  Grace 
suddenly  clasped  Nan's  hand.  "You  ought  to  take 
charge  of  Billy!  He's  awfully  in  love  with  you, 
Nan.  He's  going  to  urge  you  to  marry  him  —  at 
once.  That 's  why  — 

"No!  No!  I'll  never  do  it,"  cried  Nan  des 
pairingly. 

It  was  another  of  her  mistakes,  this  yielding  to 
Copeland's  demand  for  an  interview  that  could 
have  but  one  purpose.  She  was  thoroughly  angry 
at  herself,  half  angry  at  Mrs.  Kinney  for  acting  as 
Copeland's  intermediary. 

Copeland  was  pacing  the  veranda  smoking  a 
cigarette  when  they  reached  the  house. 

"It's  mighty  nice  of  you  to  come,  Nan,"  he 
said. 

"  I've  heard,  Billy,  that  the  haughty  John  Eaton 's 
rather  attentive  to  the  late  Mrs.  Copeland,"  said 
Grace,  when  they  had  gathered  about  the  tea- 

176 


A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

table.  "She  was  among  those  present  at  a  little 
dinner  he  gave  at  the  University  Club  the  other 
night  in  honor  of  that  English  novelist  who 's  visit 
ing  here." 

"You're  bitter  because  he  left  you  out,"  said 
Copeland  indifferently. 

"Oh,  my  bitterness  won't  hurt  Fanny.  I  suppose 
you  've  heard  that  she 's  come  into  a  nice  bunch  of 
money  —  something  like  a  quarter  of  a  million!" 

Copeland's  surprise  was  evident. 

"That  sounds  like  a  fairy  story;  but  I  hope  it's 
true." 

"I  know  it's  true,"  said  Nan  quietly.  "Mrs. 
Copeland  told  me  herself." 

Mrs.  Kinney  had  risen  to  leave  them  and  Cope- 
land  had  crossed  the  room  to  open  the  door  for  her. 
They  were  arrested  by  Nan's  surprising  confirma 
tion  of  this  report  that  Mrs.  Copeland  had  come 
into  an  unexpected  inheritance.  Nan  vouchsafed 
nothing  more ;  and  at  a  glance  from  Copeland  Grace 
left  them. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  and  Fanny  were  seeing  each 
other  these  days,"  he  remarked  as  he  sat  down  be 
side  her.  "Something  new,  is  n't  it?" 

'"Well,  papa  always  admired  her  and  he  took  me 
out  to  see  her  a  little  while  ago,  and  then  that  day 
you  saw  her  with  us  at  the  bank  he  insisted  on  tak 
ing  her  home  for  luncheon.  She  told  us  then  about 
the  money." 

Copeland  smiled  grimly. 
177 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Of  course,  you  know  what  it  means — Farley's 
sudden  affection  for  Fanny?" 

"Oh,  he  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  her,  did  n't 
he,  when  you  were  first  married?" 

"Mrs.  Farley  and  Fanny  exchanged  a  few  calls 
and  we  were  there  for  dinner  once,  while  you  were 
still  away  at  school.  But  this  is  different;  he's 
throwing  you  with  her  for  a  purpose,  as  you  ought 
to  see.  It  does  credit  to  the  old  man's  cunning.  He 
thinks  that  if  you  become  good  friends  with  Fanny, 
he  can  be  sure  you've  dropped  me." 

"Rubbish!  Papa  has  always  liked  her;  he  likes 
the  kind  of  woman  who  can  run  a  farm  and  make 
money  out  of  it;  he  thinks  she's  a  good  example 
forme!" 

"Don't  let  him  fool  you  about  that!"  he  said 
petulantly.  "He's  an  old  Shylock  and  he's  about 
taken  the  last  ounce  out  of  me.  Paying  him  that 
last  twenty-five  thousand  has  put  me  in  a  bad  hole. 
And  it's  pure  vengeance.  If  he  was  n't  afraid  you 
were  going  to  marry  me,  he  would  never  have  driven 
me  so  hard.  He  thinks  if  he  can  ruin  me  financially 
you  '11  quit  me  for  good.  It  was  understood  when 
I  bought  him  out  that  he  'd  be  easy  about  the  pay 
ments.  There 's  a  frame-up  between  him  and  Cor- 
bin  &  Eichberg  to  force  me  out  of  business.  And 
he's  been  calling  some  of  the  old  employees  up 
to  see  him,  and  encouraging  Amidon  to  trot  up 
there  so  he  can  worm  things  out  of  him.  I  don't 
think  he  gets  anything  out  of  Jerry,"  he  added, 

178 


A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

taking  warning  of  a  resentful  gleam  in  Nan's  eyes. 
"I  think  the  boy's  loyal  to  me;  in  fact"  -he 
grinned  ruefully  —  "he's  full  of  an  ambition  to 
make  a  man  of  me !  But  you  must  see  that  it 's  all 
a  game  to  draw  you  away  from  me.  Farley's  not 
the  sort  of  man  to  waste  time  on  a  youngster  like 
Amidon  for  nothing,  and  this  throwing  you  in 
Fanny's  way  is  about  as  smooth  a  piece  of  work  as 
I  ever  knew  him  to  do." 

"You're  exaggerating,  Billy;  and  as  far  as  Jerry 
is  concerned,  papa  likes  him;  he  always  takes  an 
interest  in  poor  boys.  And  the  fact  that  Jerry 
came  from  down  there  on  the  river  where  he  had 
his  own  early  struggles  probably  makes  him  a  little 
more  sympathetic  with  him." 

"The  old  gentleman's  sympathies,"  said  Cope- 
land,  bending  forward  and  meeting  her  gaze  with 
a  significant  look,  "are  likely  to  cost  you  a  whole 
lot  of  money,  Nan." 

"Just  how  do  you  make  that  out,  Billy?" 

"All  the  hospitals  and  charitable  concerns  in 
town  have  been  working  on  Farley  to  do  something 
for  them  in  his  will,  and  I  heard  yesterday  that  he 's 
promised  to  do  something  big  for  the  Boys'  Club 
people.  You've  probably  seen  Trumbull  at  the 
house  a  good  deal  —  he's  the  kind  of  fellow  who'd 
make  an  impression  on  Farley.  I  got  this  from 
Kinney.  He  gave  them  some  money  last  year  and 
they  put  him  on  the  board  of  directors.  They're 
all  counting  on  something  handsome  from  the  old 

179 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

man.  I  assume  he  has  n't  told  you  anything 
about  it;  it  would  n't  be  like  him  to!  He  means 
to  die  and  let  you  find  out  just  what  his  affection 
for  you  comes  down  to  in  dollars." 

"Well,  he  has  a  right  to  do  what  he  likes  with 
his  money,"  Nan  replied  slowly,  repeating  the 
phrase  with  which  she  had  sought  to  console  her 
self  since  the  will  fell  into  her  hands.  "I  suppose 
he  thinks  he's  done  enough  for  me." 

The  phrases  of  the  will  danced  before  her  eyes: 
Copeland's  intimations  squared  with  the  facts  as 
she  knew  them  to  be;  she  had  seen  tangible  proof 
of  their  accuracy. 

"We  have  to  admit  that  he's  been  kind  to  you, 
but  he  has  n't  any  right  to  bring  you  up  as  his 
daughter  and  then  cut  you  off.  You  stand  in  law  as 
his  own  child,  and  if  he  should  die  without  mak 
ing  a  will,  you'd  inherit  everything." 

"Well,  the  law  has  n't  made  me  his  own  child," 
said  Nan  bitterly. 

Seeing  her  resentment,  and  feeling  that  he  was 
gaining  ground,  he  proceeded  cautiously. 

"I  suppose  he's  likely  to  have  a  sudden  call  one 
of  these  days?" 

"  Yes;  or  he  may  live  several  years,  so  the  doctor 
told  me.  But  I  don't  want  to  think  of  that.  And  I 
don't  like  to  think  of  what  he  may  do  or  not  do  for 
me,"  she  added  earnestly. 

"Of  course  you  don't!"  he  assented.  "But  he 
has  n't  any  right  to  stand  between  you  and  your 

1 80 


A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

happiness.  If  he  had  the  right  feeling  about  you, 
he  'd  want  to  see  you  married  and  settled  before  he 
dies.  I  suppose  he 's  never  told  you  what  he  meant 
to  do  for  you?" 

"No.  But  he's  told  me  what  he  wouldn't  do 
if  I  married  you ;  he  laid  that  down  in  the  plainest 
English!" 

"  I  don't  doubt  it;  but  no  man  has  a  right  to  do 
any  such  thing.  Just  why  he  hates  me  so  I  don't 
understand.  It  ought  n't  to  be  a  crime  to  love 
you,  Nan." 

His  hand  touched  hers,  then  clasped  it  tightly. 

"I  don't  see  why  we  should  be  talking  of  these 
things  at  all,"  he  went  on.  "  I  love  you;  and  I  be 
lieve  that  deep  down  in  your  heart  you  love  me. 
You're  not  going  to  say  you  don't,  Nan?" 

"You  know  I've  always  liked  you  a  lot,  Billy," 
she  answered  evasively. 

"Before  Farley  got  the  idea  that  I  wanted  to 
marry  you  for  his  money  and  abused  me  and  made 
you  unhappy,  you  cared;  you  can't  deny  that.  And 
I  don't  believe  his  hatred  of  me  really  made  any 
difference." 

It  was  the  wiser  course  not  to  abuse  Farley.  He 
felt  that  he  was  winning  her  to  a  yielding  mood, 
and  his  hopes  rose. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  suddenly  and  bent  her 
eyes  upon  him  with  disconcerting  intentness. 

"Please  tell  me,  Billy,  the  real  truth  about  your 
trouble  with  Fanny?" 

181 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

The  abruptness  of  her  question  startled  him.  The 
color  deepened  in  his  face  and  he  blinked  under  her 
searching  gaze.  She  had  never  before  spoken  of 
his  trouble  with  his  former  wife. 

"That,"  he  said  rallying  quickly,  "is  all  over 
and  done.  It  has  n't  anything  to  do  with  you 
and  me." 

"Yes,  Billy;  I  think  it  has!  If  you're  really 
serious  in  wanting  to  marry  me,  I  think  I  ought 
to  know  about  that." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  doubt  my  seriousness; 
you  've  been  the  one  serious  thing  in  my  whole  life ! " 

"But  Fanny — "  she  persisted,  gently  touching 
his  hands  that  were  loosely  clasped  on  his  knee. 

"Oh,  the  trouble  was  that  we  were  never  suited 
to  each  other.  She 's  quiet,  domestic  —  a  country- 
town  girl,  and  never  fitted  into  things  here.  She 
wanted  to  sit  at  home  every  evening  and  sew  and 
expected  me  to  wait  around  for  her  to  drop  a  spool 
so  I  could  get  excitement  out  of  scrambling  for  it. 
And  she  did  n't  like  my  friends,  or  doing  the  things 
I  like.  Her  idea  of  having  a  gay  time  was  to  go  to 
the  state  fair  once  a  year  and  look  at  live  stock ! 
I  think  she  hated  me  toward  the  end." 

"But  that  other  story  about  her  —  about  an 
other  man ;  she  does  n't  look  like  that  sort  of 
woman,  Billy." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"That  wasn't  in  the  case  at  all.  The  divorce 
was  given  for  incompatibility.  Whatever  else  there 

182 


A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

may  have  been  did  n't  figure.  I  made  it  as  easy  for 
her  as  possible,  of  course.  And  I  Ve  no  doubt  she 
was  as  glad  to  quit  as  I  was!" 

"But  you  did  n't  think  —  you  did  n't  honestly 
believe  — " 

"Well,  I  thought  she  was  interested  in  Manning; 
and  we  had  some  trouble  about  that.  He  used  to 
come  here  a  good  deal.  He  was  an  old  friend  of 
mine  and  his  business  brought  him  to  town  pretty 
often  for  a  couple  of  years.  He 's  a  fellow  of  quiet 
tastes  —  just  her  sort  —  and  I  hoped  when  I  got 
out  of  the  way  she  'd  marry  him.  I  want  you  to  be 
satisfied  about  everything,  Nan.  I  tell  you  every 
thing  's  over  between  Fanny  and  me." 

She  rose  and  took  a  turn  across  the  room,  paused 
at  the  window,  glanced  out  upon  the  lawn  and  the 
strip  of  woodland  beyond.  He  became  impatient 
as  the  minutes  passed.  Then  she  faced  him  sud 
denly. 

"It's  no  use,  Billy,"  she  said. 

He  was  eagerly  protesting  when  Mrs.  Kinney 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"What  are  you  two  looking  so  glum  about?  You 
need  cheering  up  and  I've  got  a  fine  surprise  for 
you!" 

"I  must  go,"  said  Nan,  relieved  at  the  inter 
ruption. 

"Not  much,  you're  not!  Bob  has  just  tele 
phoned  that  the  Burleys  of  Chicago  are  in  town  and 
they  're  coming  out  for  dinner.  And  I  Ve  telephoned 

183 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

the  Liggets  and  the  Martins  and  George  Pickard 
and  Edith  Saxby  and  the  Andrews.  It  will  be  like 
old  times  to  have  the  old  crowd  together  once 
more!" 

"Of  course,  Nan  will  stay!  She's  been  making 
me  miserable  lately  and  that  will  help  her  square 
herself,"  said  Copeland. 

"I  must  go,  really,"  Nan  reiterated,  suspecting 
that  the  party  had  been  arranged  in  advance. 

"Please  don't ! "  cried  Copeland.  "  You  can  tele 
phone  home  that  you  Ve  been  delayed  —  you  can 
arrange  it  someway." 

"When  I  went  downtown  on  an  errand!  I  don't 
see  it!" 

"Dinner's  at  six;  the  Burleys  have  to  go  into 
town  early,"  said  Mrs.  Kinney. 

"Oh,  let  her  go!"  exclaimed  Copeland.  "Our 
Nan  is  n't  the  good  sport  she  used  to  be,  and  she 
does  n't  love  any  of  us  any  more.  She 's  gone  back 
on  all  her  old  friends." 

"Oh,  no,  she  has  n't.  I  never  knew  her  to  take 
a  dare!  I  don't  believe  she's  going  to  do  it  now." 

Nan  surveyed  them  defiantly  and  looked  at  her 
watch. 

She  felt  that  she  had  finally  dismissed  Billy,  and 
her  last  word  to  him  had  left  her  elated.  It  might 
be  worth  while  to  wait,  at  any  hazard,  to  ease  his 
discomfiture,  and  to  show  the  Kinneys  and  their 
friends  that  she  had  not  cut  them;  and,  moreover, 
she  was  unwilling  to  have  them  know  how  greatly 

184 


A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

her  old  freedom  was  curtailed.  The  time  had  passed 
quickly  and  she  could  not  reach  home  before  seven 
even  if  she  left  immediately.  Miss  Rankin  had 
covered  up  her  absences  before  and  might  do  so 
again. 

"Let  me  telephone  and  I'll  see  how  things  are 
going." 

The  nurse's  report  was  reassuring.  Farley,  who 
had  rested  badly  for  several  nights,  was  sleeping. 
He  might  not  waken  for  an  hour  —  perhaps  not  for 
several  hours.  Miss  Rankin  volunteered  to  explain 
Nan's  absence  if  he  should  call  for  her. 

"All  right,  Grace,  you  may  a  lay  a  plate  for  me!" 
she  announced  cheerfully.  "But  I  must  be  on  my 
way  right  after  dinner.  You  understand  that!" 

"It's  great  to  see  you  on  the  good  old  cocktail 
route  again,  Nan!"  declared  Pickard.  "We  heard 
you'd  taken  the  veil!" 

The  cocktails  were  passed  before  they  went  to  the 
table;  there  were  quarts  for  everybody,  Grace  as 
sured  them.  The  men  had  already  fortified  them 
selves  downtown  against  any  lack  of  an  appetizer 
at  the  house.  Mocking  exclamations  of  surprise 
and  alarm  followed  Nan's  rejection  of  her  glass. 

"That's  not  fair,  Nan!"  they  chorused,  gather 
ing  about  her.  "You  used  to  swallow  six  without 
blinking  an  eye." 

"She's  joined  the  crape-hangers  for  sure!  I 
did  n't  think  it  of  our  Nan!"  mourned  Pickard. 

185 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Oh,  anything  to  stop  your  crying!"  Nan  took 
the  glass  Kinney  had  been  holding  for  her.  ' '  There ! 
I  hope  you're  satisfied.  It's  silly  to  make  so  much 
fuss  about  a  mere  cocktail.  No,  thanks;  not  an 
other!  There's  no  point  in  taking  the  same  dare 
twice!" 

At  the  table  the  talk  at  once  became  animated. 
Nan  had  been  away  from  them  so  long  that  she  had 
half  forgotten  their  range  of  interests.  Burley's 
expensive  new  machine,  in  which  he  had  motored 
down  from  Chicago;  "shows"  they  had  seen;  a 
business  scheme  —  biggest  thing  afoot,  Burley 
threw  in  parenthetically,  with  a  promise  to  tell 
Kinney  more  about  it  later;  George  Pickard's  at 
tentions  to  the  soubrette  in  a  musical  comedy,  and 
references  to  flirtations  which  the  married  men 
present  had  been  engaging  in  —  these  things  were 
flung  upon  the  table  to  be  pecked  at  and  dis 
missed. 

"You  people  are  the  only  real  sports  in  this  dis 
mal  swamp  of  a  town!  I  don't  know  how  you  live 
here  among  so  many  dead  ones!"  said  Burley. 

Kinney  declared  that  he  intended  to  move  to 
New  York  as  soon  as  he  got  rid  of  his  patent  suits; 
he  was  tired  of  living  in  a  one-horse  town.  This 
suggested  a  discussion  of  the  merits  of  New  York 
hotels  —  a  subject  which  the  Kinneys  everywhere 
west  of  Manhattan  Island  find  endlessly  exciting. 

When  champagne  was  served,  Burley  rose  with 
elaborate  dignity  and  invited  the  other  men  to  join 

1 86 


A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

in  a  toast  to  the  ladies;  they  were  the  best  girls  in 
America;  he  defied  anybody  to  gainsay  him.  He 
wished  they  might  all  travel  about  together  all  the 
time  hitting  only  the  high  places;  and  he  extended 
a  general  invitation  to  the  company  to  meet  him  at 
Palm  Beach  the  next  winter  for  what  he  promised 
should  be  a  grand  time. 

"He 'd  make  it  Japan  if  he 'd  only  had  a  few  more 
drinks,"  his  wife  remarked  to  Nan. 

By  the  time  salad  was  served  George  Pickard 
thought  it  well  to  justify  his  reputation  as  a  "cut- 
up."  His  father,  a  successful  lawyer,  had  left  him 
a  comfortable  fortune  which  George  was  rapidly 
distributing.  George  had  rebelled  against  the 
tame  social  life  of  the  town  in  which  he  was  born; 
he  was  bored  by  respectability,  and  found  the  free 
dom  of  the  Kinneys'  establishment  wholly  to  his 
liking.  He  went  to  the  living-room  for  the  victrola 
and  wheeled  it  in,  playing  the  newest  tango,  to  a 
point  just  behind  Nan's  chair. 

"Got  to  have  music;  got  the  habit  and  can't  eat 
without  music!" 

This  was  accepted  as  a  joke  until  Copeland  pro 
tested  that  he  could  n't  stand  the  noise  and  began 
struggling  with  Pickard,  who  bitterly  resented  his 
effort  to  push  the  machine  out  of  the  room.  The 
music  was  hushed  presently  and  Pickard  resumed 
his  seat  with  the  understanding  that  he  might  play 
all  he  pleased  after  dinner. 

"And  we'll  have  a  dance  —  I  have  n't  danced  a 
187 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

step  in  ages!"  cried  Nan,  entering  into  the  spirit  of 
the  occasion. 

She  had  always  excused  their  vulgarity  on  the 
ground  that  they  were  at  least  cheerful,  and  that 
probably  they  were  just  as  good  as  the  people 
who  frowned  upon  them.  Their  admiration  was  evi 
dent  from  the  frequency  with  which  they  invited 
her  opinion  on  the  questions  under  discussion; 
and  it  was  a  relief  to  escape  from  the  invalid  air  of 
home  and  from  what  she  had  convinced  herself  was 
Farley's  hostility. 

Several  times  her  fingers  touched  the  stem  of  her 
wineglass,  only  to  be  withdrawn  quickly.  Cope- 
land,  sitting  beside  her,  noticed  her  indecision  and 
drew  the  glass  toward  her. 

"Just  one,  for  old  times'  sake,  Nan?" 

"All  right,  Billy!" 

She  emptied  her  glass,  and  then,  turning  to  Cope- 
land,  laid  her  fingers  lightly  across  the  rim. 

"That's  all;  not  another  drop!"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone. 

He  laughed  and  held  up  his  glass  for  inspection ; 
he  had  barely  touched  his  lips  to  it. 

"  I  had  only  one  cocktail  and  I  have  n't  taken  any 
of  this  stuff,"  he  said  with  a  glance  that  invited 
approval.  "  I  can  do  it;  you  see  I  can  do  it!  I  can 
do  anything  for  you,  Nan!" 

The  furtive  touch  of  his  hand  seemed  to  estab 
lish  an  understanding  between  them  that  they  were 
spectators,  not  participants  in  the  revel. 

188 


THE  FURTIVK  TOUCH  OF  HIS  HAND  SEEMKI)  TO  ESTABLISH  AN  UNDKK- 
STAND1NG  BETWEEN  THEM  THAT  THEY  WERE  SPECTATORS,  NOT  PARTICI 
PANTS  IN  THE  REVEL 


A   KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

"I  know  you  can,  and  you  must,  Billy." 

The  noise  and  confusion  increased.  Edith  Saxby 
had  begun  to  cry  —  Nan  remembered  that  Edith 
usually  cried  when  she  was  tipsy.  She  was  bewail 
ing  the  loss  of  her  salted  almonds  which  she  charged 
Andrews  with  appropriating.  Andrews  thereupon 
went  to  the  sideboard  and  brought  the  serving-dish 
of  almonds  and  poured  the  contents  upon  the 
girl's  head. 

Pickard  leaned  across  the  table  to  wipe  away 
her  tears  with  his  napkin.  In  attempting  this  feat 
he  upset  the  wineglasses  of  his  immediate  neigh 
bors,  causing  a  wild  scamper  to  escape  the  resulting 
deluge.  Liggett  and  Burley  retaliated  by  pushing 
him  upon  the  table,  where  he  crowned  himself  with 
the  floral  centerpiece.  Boisterous  expressions  of 
delight  greeted  this  masterstroke. 

"This  is  getting  too  rotten!"  shouted  Copeland. 

He  seized  Pickard  and  dragged  him  from  the  table 
amid  general  protests. 

"Biggest  joke  of  all,"  cried  Kinney,  pointing  at 
Copeland,  "that  Billy's  sober.  Everybody  else 
drunk,  but  Billy  sober 's  a  judge!" 
« •  Mrs.  Liggett,  a  stout  blonde,  shrilly  resenting  this 
as  an  imputation  upon  her  character,  attempted 
to  retaliate  by  slapping  Kinney,  who  began  running 
round  the  table  to  escape  her.  This  continued  with 
the  others  cheering  them  on  until  she  tripped  and 
fell  headlong  amid  screams  of  consternation  from 
the  women  and  roars  of  delight  from  the  men. 

189 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"This  is  what  I  call  a  real  ball!"  declared  Burley. 

After  Mrs.  Liggett  had  been  carried  to  a  divan 
in  the  hall  to  recuperate,  they  decided  that  the 
possibilities  of  the  table  had  been  exhausted  and 
returned  to  the  living-room  where  the  victrola  was 
again  set  going. 

Nan,  lingering  in  the  hall,  found  Andrews  beside 
her. 

"Always  meant  to  tell  you  I  loved  you,  Nan; 
now 's  a  good  time,"  he  blurted.  "No  girl  like  you, 
Nancy!" 

His  wife  appeared  suddenly  at  the  door  and 
screamed  at  him  to  behave  himself,  while  the  others 
laughed  loudly. 

"Rules  all  suspended  to-night;  nobody  going  to 
be  jealous!"  cried  Burley  encouragingly. 

"Got  to  kiss  me,  Nan,"  Andrews  resumed;  "kiss 
everybody  else  but  you  never  - 

She  pushed  him  away  in  disgust.  Kinney  enter 
tainments,  viewed  soberly,  clearly  lacked  the  zest 
she  had  found  in  them  when  exhilarated.  She 
looked  at  her  watch.  She  must  leave  immediately. 
Copeland  beckoned  to  her  and  she  turned  to  him 
with  relief. 

"It's  half-past  eight,  Nan;  how  soon  must  you 
go?" 

"At  once;  I  should  n't  have  stayed  in  the  first 
place." 

"Well,  I'll  be  glad  enough  to  shake  this  bunch! 
Get  your  things  and  I  '11  go  for  the  car." 

190 


A  KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

He  had  been  a  very  different  Billy  to-night.  It 
was  clear  that  he  meant  to  be  kind  and  considerate. 
The  butler  passed  them  bearing  a  jingling  tray  to 
answer  a  demand  for  high-balls  from  the  living- 
room.  Billy  was  the  only  sober  man  in  the  com 
pany,  and  she  gave  him  full  credit  for  his  abstemi 
ousness.  They  were  calling  her  insistently  to  come 
and  do  some  of  the  "stunts"  that  she  had  always 
contributed  to  their  parties. 

She  walked  to  the  open  door  and  laughed  at  them 
mockingly. 

"I'm  all  in,  dead  tired!  Billy's  going  to  take 
me  home!" 

The  sight  of  them,  flushed,  rumpled,  maudlin, 
increased  her  desire  to  escape  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible.  She  bade  them  good-night  amid  their  loud 
reproaches,  went  for  her  hat  and  coat,  and  was 
soon  in  Copeland's  white  roadster  spinning  toward 
town. 

"  Well,  Nan,  this  is  fine.  We  can  go  on  with  our 
talk  now." 

"But  we  finished  that,  Billy.  We  can't  go  back 
to  it  again!" 

"Oh,  yes,  we  can;  there's  only  one  way  to  end 
it !  That  sort  of  thing  "  -  he  jerked  his  head  toward 
the  Kinneys' -- "is  n't  for  you  and  me.  I've  cut 
it  out;  passed  it  up  for  good.  I'm  going  to  live 
straight  and  try  to  get  back  all  I've  lost:  I  know 
everybody 's  down  on  me  —  waiting  to  see  me 
take  the  count.  But  with  you  everything  will  be 

191 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

different.   You    know   that;   you    understand    it, 
Nan!" 

Nan's  thoughts  were  sober  ones.  She  did  like 
Billy;  his  good  conduct  at  the  party  was  encour 
aging;  he  could  be  a  man  if  he  would.  He  was  a  boy 
—  a  big,  foolish  boy,  kind  of  heart,  and  generous, 
with  a  substratum  of  real  character.  The  actual 
difference  in  years  did  not  matter  greatly;  he  was 
as  slim  and  trim  as  a  youngster  just  out  of  college. 
From  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance  they  had 
got  on  amazingly  well  together.  And  he  loved  her ; 
she  was  honestly  convinced  of  this.  Like  many  young 
girls  she  had  found  the  adoration  of  an  older  man 
flattering.  A  Farley  had  been  cruelly  unjust  to 
her;  there  was  always  that  justification.  Even  after 
she  had  given  him  her  solemn  assurances  that  she 
would  not  marry  Billy,  he  had  deliberately  planned 
to  give  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to  charity. 

After  the  scenes  at  the  Kinneys'  she  found  in 
finite  relief  and  comfort  in  the  rush  of  the  cool 
night  air,  and  in  the  bright  shield  of  stars  above. 
Billy  was  the  only  person  in  all  the  world  who 
cared,  who  understood!  In  her  anxiety  to  be  just, 
she  gave  to  his  good  conduct  during  the  evening  an 
exaggerated  importance  and  assured  herself  that 
there  was  a  manliness  in  him  that  she  had  never 
appreciated. 

"Dear  old  Billy!"  she  said  softly,  and  laid  her 
hand  lightly  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,  Nan!" 

192 


A   KINNEY  LARK  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

With  a  happy  laugh  he  brought  the  machine  to 
an  abrupt  stop. 

"Dear  little  girl!  Dear  little  Nan!"  he  mur 
mured,  his  arms  clasping  her.  "You  belong  to  me 
now;  nobody's  ever  going  to  take  you  away  from 
me.  I  love  you;  you're  dearer  to  me  than  all  the 
world;  and  I 'm  so  happy  and  proud!" 

They  talked  for  a  time  in  subdued  tones  of  the 
future.  Yes;  she  had  made  the  great  decision.  It 
seemed,  now  that  she  had  given  her  word,  that  it 
had  been  inevitable  from  the  beginning.  There 
would  be  no  more  uncertainty,  no  more  unhappi- 
ness.  His  arms  were  a  happy  refuge.  No  one  had 
ever  been  as  kind  to  her  as  he  had  been.  She  no 
longer  questioned  his  good  faith,  or  doubted  his 
love. 

"Oh,  Billy,  we  must  hurry!  I'm  in  for  a  bad 
time,  if  I'm  caught." 

When  she  reached  the  house  the  nurse  let  her 
in.  Farley  had  wakened  once  and  asked  for  her, 
Miss  Rankin  said,  but  he  had  been  satisfied  with 
an  explanation  that  Nan  had  gone  early  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BILLS   PAYABLE 

AT  six  o'clock  every  morning  Mr.  Jeremiah  Ami- 
don's  alarm-clock  sent  him  trotting  down  the  hall 
of  his  boarding-house  to  the  bathroom  for  an  im 
mersion  in  cold  water.  When  he  had  carefully 
dressed  himself,  he  pulled  weights  for  ten  minutes, 
and  thus  refreshed  and  strengthened  was  able  to 
wring  a  smile  from  the  saddest  boarder  at  the  break 
fast  table. 

He  now  opened  the  office  mail.  No  one  knew 
who  had  conferred  this  responsibility  upon  him; 
all  that  any  one  knew  about  the  matter  was  that 
Jerry  got  down  first  and  had  the  job  done  usually 
by  eight  o'clock.  He  did  it  well ;  there  was  no  deny 
ing  that.  It  was  the  only  way,  he  told  Copeland, 
that  you  could  keep  track  of  the  business.  He  as 
sumed  also  the  task  of  replying  to  complaints  of 
protesting  customers,  and  carried  the  replies  to 
Copeland  to  sign.  The  errors,  omissions,  and  delays 
complained  of  became,  under  Jerry's  hand,  a  matter 
of  chagrin  and  personal  grief  to  the  head  of  the 
house.  These  literary  performances  were  in  a  key 
of  cheerful  raillery,  made  possible  by  his  knowledge 
of  the  domestic  affairs  or  social  habits  of  the  kick 
ing  customer.  Where  there  was  real  ground  for 

194 


BILLS  PAYABLE 

complaint  and  the  patron  was  a  valued  one,  Jerry 
telegraphed  an  apology.  Copeland  demurred  at 
this. 

"What  if  that  fellow  does  get  a  damaged  ship 
ment  occasionally?"  said  Copeland,  frowning  over 
one  of  these  messages;  "he's  one  of  the  slowest 
customers  on  our  list.  It  would  n't  be  any  great 
calamity  if  we  lost  him." 

"He's  slow  all  right,"  Jerry  admitted,  "but  he's 
dead  sure ;  and  he  has  an  old  uncle  who  owns  about 
a  section  of  the  fattest  bottom  land  on  the  Wabash. 
When  the  old  gent  dies,  Sam's  going  to  put  up  a 
building  for  himself  and  build  a  drug  store  that 
will  be  more  beautiful  than  Solomon  in  full  evening 
dress." 

"These  old  uncles  never  die,"  observed  Cope- 
land  dryly,  handing  back  the  telegram. 

"Sam's  will.  He's  mostly  paralyzed  now  and  it 
won't  be  long  till  we  get  an  order  for  a  new  stock. 
Sam  was  in  town  last  week  and  talked  over  the 
fittings  for  his  new  store.  You'll  find  seven  dollars 
in  my  expense  account  that  covers  victuals  and 
drink  I  threw  into  Samuel ;  but  I  paid  for  the  tickets 
to  the  Creole  Queens  Burlesque  out  of  my  own  pocket 
so's  to  bring  down  my  average." 

"All  right;  let  'er  go,"  laughed  Copeland. 

No  one  else  in  the  establishment  ever  joked  with 
Copeland.  His  father  had  been  a  melancholy  dys 
peptic;  and  the  tradition  of  Farley's  bad  temper 
and  profanity  still  caused  the  old  employees  to 

195 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

walk  softly.  Copeland  found  Jerry's  freshness  and 
cheek  diverting.  Jerry,  by  imperceptible  degrees, 
was  infusing  snap  into  the  organization.  And  Cope- 
land  knew  that  the  house  needed  snap. 

"About  telegrams:  I  guess  we  do  more  telegraph 
ing  than  any  house  on  the  street!"  Jerry  informed 
him.  "  You  can  send  a  jolly  by  lightning  anywhere 
in  Indiana  for  a  quarter;  and  nothing  tickles  one  of 
these  country  fellows  like  getting  a  telegram." 

"You've  got  to  consider  the  dignity  of  the  house 
just  a  little  bit;  try  to  remember  that." 

"Our  game,"  replied  Jerry  confidently,  "is  to 
hold  the  business  we  've  got  and  get  more.  The  old 
system 's  played  out.  This  is  n't  the  only  house  that 
feels  it,"  he  added  consolingly.  "  Everybody 's  got 
to  rustle  these  days.  We  're  conservative,  of  course, 
and  deliver  the  goods  straight  every  time,  but  we 
must  keep  shooting  pep  into  the  organization." 

Jerry  had  gone  to  the  private  office  with  one  of 
his  sugar  letters,  as  he  called  his  propitiatory  mas 
terpieces,  on  the  day  after  Copeland's  meeting  with 
Nan  at  the  Kinneys'. 

"By  the  way,  Jerry,"  said  Copeland,  as  Amidon 
turned  to  go,  "what's  this  joke  you've  put  over  in 
the  Bigger  Business  Club?  I  did  n't  tell  anybody 
I  wanted  to  be  president.  I  was  never  in  the  club- 
rooms  but  once  and  that  was  to  look  at  that  bil 
liard  table  I  gave  the  boys." 

Jerry  ran  his  finger  round  the  inside  of  his  collar 
and  blinked  innocently. 

196 


BILLS  PAYABLE 

"  It  was  just  an  uprising  of  the  people,  Mr.  Cope- 
land.  The  boys  had  to  have  you.  You  got  two 
hundred  votes,  and  Sears,  of  the  Thornwood  Furni 
ture  Company,  was  the  next  man  with  only  sixty- 
two." 

"You  did  that,  you  young  scoundrel,"  said  Cope- 
land  good  humoredly,  "and  I  suppose  you  gave 
'  The  News '  my  picture  to  print  in  their  account  of 
the  hotly  contested  election!" 

"No,  sir;  I  only  told  the  reporter  where  I  thought 
he  would  find  one." 

The  Bigger  Business  Club  was  an  organization 
of  clerks  and  traveling  men,  that  offered  luncheon 
and  billiards  and  trade  journals  in  a  suite  of  rooms 
in  the  Board  of  Trade  Building.  It  took  itself  very 
seriously,  and  was  highly  resolved  to  exercise  its 
best  endeavors  in  widening  the  city's  markets.  In 
cidentally  the  luncheon  served  at  thirty  cents  was 
the  cheapest  in  town,  and  every  other  Saturday  night 
during  the  winter  there  was  a  smoker  where  such 
subjects  as  "Selling  Propositions,"  "The  Square 
Deal"  and  "Efficiency"  were  debated. 

"Well,  now  that  you've  wished  it  on  me,  what 
am  I  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Your  election  scores  one  for  the  house  and,  of 
course,  you  're  going  to  take  the  job.  The  directors 
meet  once  a  month,  and  you  '11  have  to  attend  some 
of  the  meetings ;  and  you  ought  to  turn  out  at  a  few 
of  the  smokers,  anyhow.  It  will  help  the  boys  a  lot 
to  have  you  show  an  interest." 

197 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Copeland's  face  became  serious.  He  swung  round 
in  his  chair  and  stared  at  the  wall  for  a  moment. 

"  You  think  I  might  do  those  young  fellows  some 
good,  do  you?  "  he  demanded  bitterly.  "  Well,  you 
seem  to  have  a  better  opinion  of  me  than  most 
people.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Jerry.  If  you're 
going  up  there  for  lunch  to-day  I'll  go  along." 

Copeland  had  ceased  to  be  amused  by  Jerry's 
personal  devotion;  there  was  something  the  least 
bit  pathetic  in  it.  If  any  one  else  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  make  him  president  of  a  club  of  clerks 
and  drummers  he  would  have  scorned  it,  —  but 
no  one  else  would  have  taken  the  trouble!  He  was 
satisfied  of  that. 

Copeland  was  at  last  thoroughly  sobered  by  his 
financial  situation.  For  two  years  the  drug  business 
had  been  losing  steadily.  Farley's  strong  hand  was 
missed;  in  spite  of  his  animosity  toward  Farley, 
Copeland  realized  that  his  father's  old  partner  had 
been  the  real  genius  of  the  business. 

His  original  subscription  of  fifty  thousand  dollars 
for  Kinney's  cement  stock  had  been  increased  from 
time  to  time  in  response  to  the  importunities  of  the 
sanguine  and  pushing  Kinney  until  he  now  had 
three  hundred  thousand  dollars  invested.  The  bank 
had  declined  to  accept  his  cement  stock  as  collateral 
for  the  loan  he  was  obliged  to  ask  to  take  up  Far 
ley's  notes  and  had  insisted  that  he  put  up  Cope- 
land-Farley  stock,  a  demand  with  which  he  had 
reluctantly  complied. 

198 


BILLS  PAYABLE 

One  hundred  thousand  dollars  of  paper  in  the 
Western  National  matured  on  the  1st  of  November, 
only  five  days  distant.  Copeland  was  pondering  a 
formidable  list  of  maturing  obligations  that  after 
noon  when  Eaton  appeared  at  the  door  of  his  pri 
vate  office.  Copeland  had  never  had  any  business 
with  Eaton.  Though  Eaton  was  defending  Kinney's 
patents,  Copeland  had  never  attended  any  of  their 
conferences  and  the  lawyer's  attenuated  figure 
and  serious  countenance  gave  him  a  distinct  shock. 

It  was  possible,  if  not  likely,  that  Farley  had  got 
wind  of  Nan's  interview  with  him  and  had  sent  the 
lawyer  with  a  warning'that  Nan -must  be  let  alone-. 
Eaton  would  be  a  likely  choice'  for  such  an  errand 
-  likelier  than  Thurston.  >  Copeland  had  always 
found  Eaton's  gravity  disconcerting;  and  to-day 
the  lawyer  seemed  unusually  sedate. 

"Hope  I  haven't  chosen  an  unfortunate  hour 
for  my  visit?  I  don't  have  much  business  down  this 
way  and  I  'm  never  sure  when  you  men  on  the  street 
are  busy." 

"Glad  to  see  you  at  any  time,"  Copeland  replied 
with  a  cordiality  he  did  not  feel. 

"We  don't  seem  to  meet  very  often,"  remarked 
Eaton.  "  I  used  to  see  you  at  the  University  Club 
in  old  times,  but  you  've  been  cutting  us  out  lately." 

"I  don't  get  there  very  often.  The  Hamilton  is 
nearer  the  store  and  it's  a  little  more  convenient 
place  to  meet  anybody  you  want  to  see." 

"I  shall  have  to  quit  the  University  myself  if 
199 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

the  members  don't  stop  napping  in  the  library  after 
luncheon,"  remarked  Eaton  musingly.  "Rather  a 
dim  room,  you  remember?  Only  a  few  afternoons 
ago  a  fellow  was  sprawled  out  on  a  divan  sleeping 
sweetly  and  I  sat  down  on  him  —  very  annoying. 
The  idea  of  gorging  yourself  so  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  that  you  Ve  got  to  sleep  it  off  is  depressing.  I 
suppose  we  can  be  undisturbed  here  for  a  few  min 
utes?" 

"Yes;  we're  all  right  here,"  Copeland  assented 
with  misgivings.  He  thrust  the  list  of  accounts  pay 
able  into  a  drawer,  and  waited  for  Eaton  to  unfold 
hi'rnGeJf..  vi,  <•  •"- 

'Tcome  on  a  delicate  matter,  Copeland;  business 
thas  'is-  rather  out  of  my  line*" 

"I  hoped  you'd  come  to  tell  me  we'd  got  a  de 
cision  in  the  cement  case.  It  would  cheer  us  a  good 
deal  to  know  that  Kinney's  patents  have  been  sus 
tained." 

"  I  'm  sorry  we  have  n't  got  a  decision  yet.  But 
I  'm  reasonably  sure  of  success  there.  If  I  had  n't 
had  faith  in  Kinney's  patents  I  should  n't  have 
undertaken  to  defend  them.  We  ought  to  have  a 
decision  now  very  shortly;  any  day,  in  fact." 

"Well,  Kinney  isn't  worrying;  he's  been  going 
ahead  just  as  though  his  rights  were  founded  on 
rock." 

"I  think  they  are.  It  might  have  been  better 
policy  not  to  extend  the  business  until  we  had 
clearance  papers  from  the  highest  court,  but  Kinney 

200 


BILLS   PAYABLE 

thought  he  ought  to  push  on  while  the  going 's  good. 
He's  an  ambitious  fellow,  and  the  stuff  he  makes 
is  in  demand ;  but  you  know  more  about  that  than 
I  do." 

"To  be  frank  about  it,  I'd  be  glad  to  clear  out 
of  it,"  said  Copeland.  "But  I  can't  desert  him 
while  his  patents  are  in  question  —  the  stock 's 
unsalable  now,  of  course." 

"There  was  a  time  when  we  might  have  com 
promised  those  suits  on  fairly  good  terms;  but  I 
advised  Kinney  against  it.  The  responsibility  of 
making  the  fight  is  mine.  And,"  Eaton  added  with 
one  of  his  rare  smiles,  "I  shall  owe  you  all  an 
apology  if  I  get  whipped." 

Copeland  shrugged  his  shoulders.  His  uncertainty 
as  to  the  nature  of  Eaton's  errand  caused  him  to 
fidget  nervously. 

"As  I  said  before,"  Eaton  resumed,  "my  purpose 
in  coming  to  see  you  is  wholly  out  of  my  line.  In 
fact,  I  shan't  be  surprised  if  you  call  it  sheer  im 
pudence  ;  but  I  wish  to  assure  you  that  I  come  in  the 
best  spirit  in  the  world.  I  hope  you  will  understand 
that." 

Copeland  was  confident  now  that  Eaton  brought 
some  message  from  Farley.  There  was  no  other 
imaginable  explanation  of  the  visit.  He  was  think 
ing  hard,  and  to  gain  time  he  opened  his  top  drawer 
and  extended  a  box  of  cigars. 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Eaton,  staring  absently  at 
the  cigars.  "To  repeat,  Copeland,  my  errand  is  n't 

201 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

an  agreeable  one,  and  I  apologize  for  my  presump 
tion  in  undertaking  it." 

Copeland  chose  a  cigar  carefully  and  slammed  the 
drawer  on  the  box.  Perhaps  Farley  had  chosen 
Eaton  as  a  proper  person  to  marry  Nan ;  she  liked 
him;  Eaton  had  always  had  an  unaccountable  fas 
cination  for  women.  He  became  impatient  for  the 
lawyer  to  continue ;  but  Eaton  had  never  been  more 
maddeningly  deliberate. 

"May  I  assume,  for  a  moment,  Copeland,  that 
you  have  obligations  outstanding  that  cause  you, 
we  will  say,  temporary  embarrassment?  Just  a  mo 
ment,  please!"  Copeland  had  moved  forward  sud 
denly  in  his  chair  with  resentment  burning  hot  in 
his  face.  ''The  assumption  may  be  unwarranted," 
Eaton  continued;  "if  so,  I  apologize." 

Copeland  thrust  his  cigar  into  his  mouth  and 
bit  it  savagely.  Farley  had  undoubtedly  taken 
over  the  maturing  notes  at  the  Western  National 
and  had  sent  Eaton  to  taunt  him  with  the  change 
of  ownership.  Eaton  removed  his  eyeglasses  and 
polished  them  with  the  whitest  of  handkerchiefs. 
His  eyes,  unobscured  by  the  thick  lenses,  told 
Copeland  nothing. 

"I  may  have  misled  you  into  thinking  that  my 
errand  is  purely  social.  I  shall  touch  upon  business; 
but  I  am  not  personally  concerned  in  it  in  any  way 
whatever.  You  might  naturally  conclude  that  I 
represent  some  corporation,  bank,  or  trust  com 
pany.  I  assure  you  that  I  do  not.  It  may  occur 

202 


BILLS  PAYABLE 

to  you  that  Mr.  Farley  sent  me,  but  he  has  not 
mentioned  you  to  me  in  this,  or  in  any  other  con 
nection  remotely  bearing  upon  my  errand.  You 
may  possibly  suspect  that  some  one  near  you  — • 
some  one  in  your  office,  for  example  —  has  been 
telling  tales  out  of  school.  I  will  say  explicitly  that 
young  Amidon,  while  a  friend  of  mine,  and  a  boy 
I  particularly  like,  has  given  me  no  hint  —  not  even 
the  remotest  idea  —  of  any  such  state  of  things.  I 
hope  you  are  satisfied  on  those  points?" 

Many  persons  at  different  times  in  John  Cecil 
Eaton's  life,  enraged  by  his  cool,  unruffled  demeanor, 
had  been  moved  to  tell  him  to  go  to  the  devil ;  but 
no  one  had  ever  done  so.  Copeland  did  not  do  so 
now,  though  he  was  strongly  impelled  to  violent 
speech. 

"I  will  go  the  length  of  saying  that  you  are  in 
considerable  danger  right  now,"  Eaton  went  on  as 
Copeland  continued  to  watch  him  impassively. 
"If  the  Western  National  should  foreclose  on  your 
stock,  you  would  be  pretty  nearly  wiped  out  of  this 
old  concern,  that  was  founded  and  conducted  for 
years  by  your  father  and  is  still  identified  with  his 
name.  I  am  in  a  position  to  pay  those  notes  and 
carry  them  —  carry  renewals  until  you  can  take 
them  up.  I  will  say  frankly  that  I  don't  consider 
them  a  good  investment,  and  I  have  said  so  to  the 
person  I  represent;  but  to  repeat  again,  I  am  not 
here  as  a  lawyer  or  business  man.  My  purpose  is 
wholly  friendly,  and  quite  disinterested.  I  should 

203 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE   PUDDING 

merely  go  to  the  bank  and  take  up  the  notes  — 
thus  destroying  the  hopes  of  certain  gentlemen  — 
your  competitors  in  business  —  who  entertain  the 
cheerful  idea  of  buying  in  your  stock  and  putting 
you  out  of  business.   That  would  be  a  calamity  - 
for  you ;   and   it  would   be  deplorable  to  have  an 
old  house  like  Copeland-Farley  lose  its  identity." 

Copeland  was  still  silent.  He  had  caught  at  one 
motive  for  this  visit  after  another,  but  Eaton  had 
disposed  of  all  of  them.  Eaton's  reputation  as  a 
man  of  strict  —  of  rather  quixotic  —  honor  did  not 
encourage  the  belief  that  he  would  deliberately  lie. 
But  there  was  a  trap  concealed  somewhere,  Cope- 
land  reflected;  he  resolved  not  to  be  caught.  If  he 
effected  an  immediate  marriage  with  Nan,  Farley 
would,  he  believed,  do  something  handsome  for 
her.  He  would  storm  and  bluster  in  his  usual  way ; 
but  he  would  hardly  dare  go  the  length  of  cutting 
her  off  entirely.  It  was  conceivable  that  he  might 
advance  money  to  save  Copeland-Farley  from 
catastrophe.  There  was  a  vein  of  sentiment  in 
Timothy  Farley ;  brought  face  to  face  with  the  idea 
of  having  the  business  he  had  done  so  much  to 
establish  eliminated,  it  was  wholly  possible  that  he 
would  come  down  handsomely  if  Nan  were  intro 
duced  into  the  situation  as  a  factor. 

Copeland  was  irritated  by  Eaton's  cocksure 
manner — a  manner  well  calculated  to  cause  irri 
tation.  Men  did  not  make  such  offers  from  purely 
philanthropic  motives.  Eaton,  moreover,  was  no 

204 


BILLS  PAYABLE 

friend  of  his;  they  hardly  spoke  the  same  lan 
guage.  Nan,  he  still  suspected,  was  somehow  the 
object  and  aim  of  these  overtures.  His  mind 
worked  quickly.  He  meant  to  marry  Nan  at  once, 
within  a  few  days  if  his  plans  succeeded,  and 
he  was  not  to  be  frustrated  by  any  scheme  for 
placing  himself  at  the  mercy  of  a  new  and  con 
cealed  creditor. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Eaton,"  he  answered 
steadily;  "but  I'm  not  quite  all  in  yet.  I  can't 
imagine  where  you  got  that  idea.  If  I  did  n't 
know  you  were  a  gentleman  I  should  be  pretty 
hot.  Things  have  been  a  little  tight  with  me,  I 
confess;  but  that's  largely  due  to  cutting  down  my 
capital  in  the  drug  business  to  back  up  what  I  had 
invested  with  Kinney.  I  'm  working  out  satisfac 
torily  and  don't  need  help ;  but  I  'm  obliged  to  you 
just  the  same." 

Eaton  nodded  reflectively;  his  face  betrayed  no 
surprise. 

"It  might  be  possible,  of  course,  for  me  to  buy 
those  maturing  notes  without  your  knowledge  or 
consent.  But  I  thought  it  would  look  better — 
help  your  credit,  in  other  words  —  if  you  took  them 
up  yourself.  You  can  see  that." 

Copeland  had  already  thought  of  this;  the  idea 
did  not  add  to  his  comfort.  The  mystery  that  en 
veloped  Eaton  enraged  him ;  business  was  not  done 
in  this  way.  If  anybody  wanted  to  put  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  into  the  drug  house,  there  were 

205 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

direct  businesslike  ways  of  suggesting  it.  He 
tipped  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  pointed  the 
unlighted  cigar  he  had  been  fumbling  at  a  calendar 
that  hung  on  the  wall  over  his  desk. 

"My  paper  in  the  Western  National  isn't  due 
for  five  days:  I  dare  them  to  sell  it  —  to  you  or 
anybody  else!  As  you  know  perfectly  well,  it  would 
be  bad  banking  ethics  for  a  bank  to  sell  the  paper 
of  an  old  customer.  It  isn't  done!  I've  about 
made  up  my  mind  to  quit  the  Western,  anyhow. 
Those  fellows  over  there  think  they  've  got  the  right 
to  sweat  every  customer  they  've  got.  They  're  not 
bankers;  they've  got  the  souls  of  pawnbrokers  and 
ought  to  be  making  loans  on  household  goods  at 
forty  per  cent  a  month." 

"That,"  replied  Eaton  calmly,  "has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  matter  in  hand.  I  understand  that  you 
decline  my  offer,  which  is  to  take  up  the  Western's 
notes." 

"You're  right,  mighty  right!  You  wouldn't 
accept  such  an  offer  yourself,  Eaton.  If  I  were  to 
come  to  you  with  a  mysterious  offer  to  advance 
you  money,  you'd  turn  me  out  of  your  office." 

"Very  likely,"  Eaton  assented.  "And  I  don't 
undertake  to  defend  the  idea;  I  confess  that  it's 
indefensible.  As  I  understand  you,  you  Ve  passed 
on  the  matter  finally." 

"I  have,"  replied  Copeland  sharply. 

Eaton  rose.  He  bent  his  gaze  with  an  absent  air 
upon  the  calendar,  as  though  surprised  to  find  it 

206 


BILLS  PAYABLE 

there.  Then,  seeming  to  recall  that  he  had  finished 
his  errand,  he  walked  to  the  door. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Copeland,"  he  said; 
and  passed  out. 

Jerry  Amidon  paused  in  the  act  of  shaking  hands 
with  a  country  customer  to  stare  at  the  departing 
figure,  but  Eaton  stalked  austerely  into  the  street 
quite  unmindful  of  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FATE   AND    BILLY   COPELAND 

WHEN  Nan  left  Copeland  the  night  of  the  Kinney 
party  she  promised  to  call  him  the  next  day.  As 
telephoning  from  home  was  hazardous,  she  made 
an  excuse  for  going  downtown  and  called  from  a 
department  store.  Copeland  was  not  in,  and  she 
repeated  her  call  several  times  without  reaching 
him.  Copeland,  if  she  had  known  it,  was  in  the 
directors'  room  at  the  Western  National,  discuss 
ing  his  affairs  with  the  president. 

She  had  a  superstitious  awe  of  petty  frustrations 
of  her  plans  and  hopes.  The  Celt  in  her  was  alert 
for  signs  and  miraculous  interventions.  It  occurred 
to  her  that  perhaps  the  angels  of  light  or  darkness 
were  bent  upon  interfering;  the  idea  kindled  her 
imagination. 

In  the  street  she  ran  into  Fanny  Copeland.  To 
meet  Billy's  former  wife,  just  when  she  was  trying 
to  perfect  plans  for  marrying  Billy,  was  altogether 
dismaying. 

"You  dear  child,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you!"  cried 
Fanny,  taking  both  Nan's  hands.  "I  was  just 
wondering  whether  I  had  time  to  run  up  to  the 
house.  How  is  Mr.  Farley?  " 

"  Papa  has  n't  been  quite  so  well,"  Nan  answered ; 
208 


FATE  AND   BILLY  COPELAND 

"but  it's  only  a  slight  cold.    I  had  to  come  down 
town  on  an  errand,"  she  explained. 

She  experienced  once  more  a  feeling  of  self-con 
sciousness,  of  unreality,  in  meeting  Fanny  face  to 
face:  within  a  day  or  two  she  might  be  another 
Mrs.  Copeland !  And  yet  Billy  had  once  loved  this 
woman,  undeniably;  and  she  had  loved  him - 
she  might,  for  all  Nan  knew,  still  love  him.  She 
envied  the  little  woman  her  equanimity,  her  poise, 
her  good  cheer.  If  she  were  only  like  that,  instead 
of  the  wobbly  weather-vane  she  knew  herself  to  be ! 
Why  had  n't  she  a  firm  grip  on  life  instead  of  a 
succession  of  fatuous  clutches  at  nothing!  Nan 
wished,  as  she  had  wished  a  thousand  times,  that 
troublesome  problems  would  not  rise  up  to  vex 
her. 

The  Farley  chauffeur  had  run  his  machine  to  the 
sidewalk  to  pick  her  up. 

"I  hope  your  father  will  be  better  soon,"  said 
Fanny.  "Give  him  my  love,  won't  you?" 

Nan's  eyes  followed  her  as  the  car  got  under  way. 

When  she  reached  home  she  met  a  special  delivery 
messenger  at  the  door.  Her  heart  jumped;  it  was 
a  note  from  Billy,  who  had  risked  sending  her  a 
message  that  might  very  easily  have  fallen  under 
her  foster-father's  eye.  She  thrust  it  into  her  pocket 
unopened  and  ran  upstairs. 

"Well,  you  're  back  again,  are  you?  "  Farley  said 
harshly. 

"Yes,  papa;  I  had  an  errand  I  could  n't  put  off." 
209 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"  It 's  always  been  a  mystery  to  me,"  he  grumbled, 
"what  women  find  to  trot  downtown  for  so  much." 

"Pins!"  she  replied  lightly.  "We  always  need 
little  things.  I  met  Mrs.  Copeland  —  looking  for 
pins,  too;  so  you  see  I  'm  not  the  only  one." 

"You  saw  her,  did  you?"  he  asked  with  a  show 
of  eagerness. 

"Yes;  I  met  her  as  I  was  coming  out  of  Sterling's. 
She  was  just  starting  home." 

"I'd  been  hoping  she'd  stop  in  to  see  me,  but 
she's  a  busy  woman." 

"She  has  a  lot  to  do,  of  course.  If  you'd  like 
to  see  her  I  '11  telephone  her  to  come  in  for  luncheon 
to-morrow." 

He  appeared  to  be  pondering  this  and  his 
hands  opened  and  shut  several  times  before  he 
answered. 

"No;  never  mind.  She's  busy  and  it  really 
does  n't  matter."  He  stared  vacantly  at  the  ceil 
ing  for  a  moment.  "I  guess  that's  all  fixed  now," 
he  added  musingly,  apparently  forgetting  her. 

She  was  anxious  to  be  off  to  her  room  to  read 
Billy's  note;  but  she  lingered,  curious  as  to  what 
further  he  might  have  to  say  about  Fanny. 

"You  like  that  woman,  don't  you,  Nan?  You 
and  she  get  on  —  you  have  n't  found  any  traces 
of  ill-feeling  toward  you?" 

His  small  gray  eyes  were  bent  upon  her  with  an 
odd  expression  of  mingled  hostility  and  kindness. 

"Of  course  I  like  her,  papa;  and  I  believe  she 

2IO 


FATE  AND   BILLY  COPELAND 

likes  me.  There's  no  reason  why  she  shouldn't 
like  me!" 

"  No  reason! "  he  caught  her  up  contemptuously. 

She  knew  that  he  was  thinking  of  Billy.  His 
face  twitched  as  a  wave  of  anger  seized  him. 

"That  man  is  a  scoundrel!"  he  blurted.  "If  he 
had  n't  been  he'd  never  have  treated  that  woman 
as  he  did!" 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  worry  her  much!"  she 
flashed  back  at  him.  "I  don't  know  a  happier 
woman  anywhere!" 

She  realized  instantly  that  the  remark  was  un 
fortunate.  He  pointed  a  shaking  finger  at  her. 

"That  woman,"  he  said,  pronouncing  the  words 
with  ominous  deliberation,  "ought  to  get  down  on 
her  knees  every  night  and  thank  God  that  she's 
rid  of  him!  That  great  bully,  that  worthless  loafer! 
But  I  '11  show  him  a  few  things!  If  that  blackguard 
thinks  he  can  put  anything  over  on  me  he'll  find 
that  I'm  smarter  than  he  thinks  I  am!  You  re 
member  that!" 

"You  must  be  quiet,  Mr.  Farley,"  admonished 
Miss  Rankin,  who  had  been  standing  by  the  window; 
"  thedoctor  said  you  weren't  to  excite  yourself." 

"  I  'm  not  excited,"  he  flared.  "  Doctors  and  law 
yers  make  a  nice  mess  of  this  world.  They  don't 
any  of  'em  know  anything!" 

He  gave  himself  an  impatient  twitch  and  several 
documents  slipped  from  under  his  pillow.  He 
clutched  them  nervously  and  thrust  them  back. 

211 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Nan  was  jubilant  for  a  moment  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  she  knew  what  those  documents  con 
tained  —  devices  for  humiliating  her  after  he  was 
gone.  If  only  he  knew  how  little  she  cared!  He 
thought  of  nothing  but  his  money  and  means  of 
keeping  it  from  her. 

"Go  away;  I  want  to  think,"  he  said  gruffly. 

Nan  was  grateful  for  this  dismissal,  and  a  mo 
ment  later  had  softly  closed  her  door  and  was 
eagerly  reading  Copeland's  message.  It  covered 
three  letter-sheets  and  the  daring  of  its  contents 
caused  her  heart  to  beat  wildly. 

What  he  proposed  was  immediate  marriage. 
There  was  to  be  a  military  wedding  that  night  at 
the  church  in  the  next  block.  Nan,  he  assumed, 
would  attend.  At  the  end  of  the  ceremony  she  had 
merely  to  pass  out  of  the  church  and  his  machine 
would  be  waiting  around  the  corner.  She  could 
pack  a  suit-case,  ostensibly  filled  with  articles  for 
the  cleaner's,  and  he  would  have  a  messenger  call 
for  it.  They  would  run  up  to  Lafayette,  where  he 
had  a  married  cousin  who  would  have  a  minister 
ready  to  marry  them ;  then  take  a  train  for  Chicago 
and  return  the  next  day  and  have  it  out  with 
Farley. 

Nan  had  never  shared  Copeland's  faith  in  the 
idea  that  once  they  were  married  they  might  safely 
rely  on  Farley's  forgiveness.  Farley's  passionate 
outbreaks  at  the  mere  mention  of  Copeland  pretty 
effectually  disposed  of  that  hope.  But  that  was  not 

212 


FATE  AND   BILLY  COPELAND 

so  important,  for,  in  spite  of  Farley's  unfavorable 
opinion  of  Copeland's  business  capacity  and  Billy's 
own  complaint  of  hard  times,  she  had  an  idea  that 
Copeland  was  well  off,  if  not  rich.  To  outward  ap 
pearances,  the  drug  business  was  as  flourishing 
now  as  in  the  days  when  Farley  was  still  active  in 
its  affairs.  It  was  the  way  of  business  men  to  "talk 
poor"  even  when  they  were  most  prosperous;  this 
had,  at  least,  always  been  Farley's  way. 

The  gaunt  figure  in  the  room  across  the  hall  rose 
wraithlike  before  her,  giving  her  pause.  Yes,  the 
Farleys  had  been  kind  to  her;  they  had  caught  her 
away  from  the  world's  rough  hand  and  had  done 
all  that  it  was  in  their  power  to  do  to  make  a  decent, 
self-respecting  woman  of  her.  Her  advantages  had 
been  equal  to  those  enjoyed  by  most  of  the  girls 
she  knew.  Many  people  —  the  town's  "old  stock," 
Farley's  substantial  neighbors  —  would  see  noth 
ing  romantic  or  amusing  in  her  flight  with  Cope- 
land.  They  would  call  her  the  basest  ingrate;  she 
could  fancy  them  saying  that  blood  will  tell;  that 
after  all  she  was  a  nobody,  a  girl  without  back 
ground  or  antecedents,  whom  the  Farleys  had 
picked  up,  out  of  the  kindness  of  their  simple 
hearts,  and  that  she  had  taken  the  first  chance  to 
slap  them  in  the  face. 

Then  she  remembered  the  will  that  had  given  her 
the  key  to  Farley's  intentions.  Possibly  the  new 
will,  which  Thurston  had  brought  to  the  house  that 
day,  cut  her  expectations  to  an  even  lower  figure.  .  . . 

213 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

It  pleased  her  to  think  that  she  was  studying  the 
matter  dispassionately,  arguing  with  herself  both 
for  and  against  Billy's  plan.  It  was  more  honest  to 
marry  Copeland  now  and  be  done  with  it  than  to 
wait  and  marry  him  after  Farley's  death.  This  she 
found  a  particularly  satisfying  argument  in  favor  of 
marrying  him  at  once.  Her  histrionic  sense  re 
sponded  to  the  suggestion  of  an  elopement ;  it  would 
be  a  great  lark,  besides  bringing  her  deliverance 
from  the  iron  hand  of  Farley.  Yes ;  she  would  do  it ! 
Her  pulses  tingled  as  she  visualized  herself  as  the 
chief  figure  in  an  event  that  would  stir  the  town.  It 
was  now  four  o'clock.  Copeland  had  written  that 
at  five  a  messenger  would  call  for  her  suit-case, 
and  all  she  had  to  do  was  to  step  into  his  car  when 
she  came  out  of  the  church. 

She  was  downstairs  listening  for  the  bell  when 
the  messenger  rang.  As  she  handed  him  the  suit 
case  she  felt  herself  already  launched  upon  a  great 
adventure.  While  she  was  at  the  door  the  afternoon 
paper  arrived  and  she  carried  it  up  to  Farley  and 
read  him  the  headlines. 

She  had  her  dinner  with  him  in  his  room.  There 
was  a  pathos  in  his  lean  frame,  his  deep-furrowed 
brow,  in  the  restless,  gnarled  hands.  She  was  not 
so  happy  over  her  plans  as  she  had  expected  to  be. 
She  kept  saying  to  herself  that  it  was  n't  quite 
fair  —  not  an  honest  return  for  all  the  kindnesses 
of  her  foster-parents  —  to  run  away  and  leave  this 
broken  old  man.  As  she  thought  of  it,  every  unkind 

214 


FATE  AND  BILLY  COPELAND 

word  he  had  said  to  her  had  been  merited ;  she  had 
lied  to  him,  disobeyed  him,  and  tricked  him. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  appetite,  Nan?" 
he  asked  suddenly.  "Seems  to  me  you've  looked 
a  little  peaked  lately.  Maybe  you  don't  get  enough 
exercise  now  we've  got  the  machine." 

"Oh,  I'm  perfectly  well,"  she  replied  hastily. 

"Well,  you've  been  cooped  up  here  all  summer. 
You  'd  better  take  a  trip  this  winter.  We  '11  keep  a 
lookout  for  somebody  that's  goin'  South  and  get 
'em  to  take  you  along." 

"Oh,  that  is  n't  necessary,  papa.  I  never  felt 
better  in  my  life." 

"Isn't  this  the  night  for  that  Parish  girl's 
wedding?"  he  asked  later. 

"Yes;  I  thought  I'd  go,"  she  answered  care 
lessly.  "It's  at  the  Congregational  Church,  and  I 
can  go  alone." 

"All  right;  you  be  sure  to  go.  You  never  saw  an 
army  wedding?  I  guess  'most  everybody  will  be 
there." 

When  he  reminded  her  that  it  was  time  to  dress 
she  answered  indifferently  that  she  did  n't  care 
to  go  to  the  reception,  and  that  the  gown  she  had 
on  would  be  perfectly  suitable. 

"  I'll  just  watch  the  show  from  a  back  seat,  papa; 
you  can  see  a  wedding  better  from  the  rear,  any 
how." 

"Well,  don't  hurry  back  on  my  account." 

She  had  been  afraid  that  he  would  raise  some 
215 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

objection  to  her  going  without  an  escort;  but  he 
made  no  comment. 

She  ran  her  eyes  over  the  things  in  her  room  — 
photographs  of  girls  she  had  known  at  boarding- 
school,  trifles  for  the  toilet-table  that  had  been 
given  her  on  birthdays  and  holidays.  It  was  a 
big  comfortable  room,  the  largest  bedroom  in  the 
house,  with  a  window-seat  that  had  been  built 
specially  for  her  when  she  came  home  from  school. 
She  glanced  over  the  trinkets  that  littered  the 
mantel,  and  took  from  its  leathern  case  a  medal 
she  had  won  in  school  for  excellence  in  recitations. 
On  the  wall  hung  a  photograph  of  herself  as  Rosa 
lind,  a  part  she  had  played  in  an  out-of-doors  pre 
sentation  of  "As  You  Like  It."  .  .  . 

She  must  leave  some  explanation  of  her  absence 
—  so  she  sat  down  at  her  desk  and  wrote :  - 

Dear  Papa:  — 

Please  don't  be  hard  on  me,  but  I  Ve  run  away 
to  marry  Mr.  Copeland.  We  are  going  to  Lafayette 
to  his  cousin's  and  shall  be  married  at  her  house 
to-night.  I  hope  you  won't  be  hard  on  me;  I  shall 
explain  everything  to  you  when  I  see  you  and  I 
think  you  will  understand.  We  shall  be  back  very 
soon  and  I  will  let  you  know  where  I  shall  be. 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  closed  with 
"Your  loving  daughter,  Nan."  She  thrust  this 
into  an  envelope,  addressed  it  in  a  bold  hand  to 

216 


FATE  AND  BILLY  COPELAND 

Timothy  Farley,  Esq.,  and  placed  it  under  a  small 
silver  box  on  the  mantel. 

She  stood  a  moment  at  the  door,  then  closed  it 
softly  and  went  in  to  say  good-night  to  Farley.  He 
took  the  hand  on  which  she  had  half-drawn  her 
glove  and  held  it  while  his  eyes  slowly  surveyed 
her. 

"I  did  n't  know  whether  you'd  wear  a  hat  to 
an  evening  wedding.  I  never  know  about  those 
things." 

"Oh,  this  is  such  a  foolish  little  thing,  papa; 
you'd  hardly  call  it  a  hat,"  she  laughed. 

"Well,  don't  let  one  of  those  army  officers  pick 
you  up  and  carry  you  off.  I  want  to  hold  on  to  you 
a  little  longer." 

As  she  bent  to  kiss  him  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 
Face  to  face  with  it,  there  was  nothing  heroic, 
nothing  romantic  in  abandoning  the  kindest  friend 
she  was  ever  likely  to  know,  and  in  a  fashion  so 
shamelessly  abrupt  and  cruel. 

"Good-night,  papa!"  she  cried  bravely  and 
tripped  downstairs,  humming  to  keep  up  her 
courage. 

She  absently  took  her  latch-key  from  a  bowl  on 
the  hall  table  and  did  not  remember  until  she  had 
thrust  it  into  her  glove  as  she  went  down  the  steps 
that  she  would  have  no  use  for  it.  It  was  the  finest 
of  autumn  nights  and  many  were  walking  to  the 
church;  there  was  a  flutter  of  white  raiment,  and 
a  festal  gayety  marked  the  street.  She  waited  for 

217 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

those  immediately  in  sight  to  pass  before  leaving 
the  yard  and  then  walked  toward  the  church. 

She  eluded  an  officer  resplendent  in  military 
dress  who  started  toward  her  and  stole  into  the 
nearest  seat.  The  subdued  happiness  that  seemed 
to  thrill  the  atmosphere,  the  organist's  preludings, 
the  air  of  expectancy  intensified  her  sense  of  de 
tachment  and  remoteness. 

The  notes  of  the  "Lohengrin"  march  roused  her 
from  her  reverie  and  she  craned  her  neck  for  a  first 
sight  of  the  attendants  and  the  bride. 

Just  before  the  benediction  she  left,  and  was  soon 
in  the  side  street  where  Billy  was  to  leave  his  car. 
She  had  expected  him  to  be  in  readiness,  but  he 
had  evidently  waited  for  the  end  of  the  ceremony 
—  which  seemed  absurd  when  they  were  so  soon  to 
have  a  wedding  of  their  own!  It  was  inconsiderate 
of  him  to  keep  her  waiting.  The  street  began  to  fill 
and  she  loitered,  ill  at  ease,  while  the  organ  trum 
peted  joyfully. 

Then  she  saw  the  familiar  white  roadster,  with 
Billy  in  the  chauffeur's  seat,  turning  into  the  side 
street  where  several  policemen  were  already  di 
recting  the  movements  of  the  parked  carriages  and 
motors  toward  the  church  entrance.  His  overcoat 
was  flung  open  and  the  light  of  the  lamp  at  the  in 
tersecting  streets  smote  upon  his  shirt  bosom.  It  was 
ridiculous  for  him  to  have  put  on  evening  clothes 
and  a  silk  hat  when  he  had  a  long  drive  before  him  ! 
The  policemen  bawled  to  him  not  to  interfere  with 

218 


FATE  AND   BILLY  COPELAND 

the  traffic.  Ignoring  their  signals  he  drove  his  car 
forward.  Nan  watched  with  mounting  anger  the 
disturbance  he  was  creating.  The  crowd  that  had 
assembled  in  the  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 
bride  now  found  Copeland  and  his  altercation  with 
the  police  much  more  diverting. 

"Billy  Copeland 's  drunk  again,"  some  one  be 
hind  Nan  remarked  contemptuously. 

The  white  car  suddenly  darted  forward  and 
crashed  into  a  motor  that  was  advancing  in  line 
toward  the  corner,  causing  a  stampede  among  the 
waiting  vehicles. 

While  the  police  were  separating  the  two  cars, 
Nan  caught  sight  of  Eaton,  who  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  persuade  the  policemen  of  Copeland's  good  in 
tentions.  Billy's  voice  was  perfectly  audible  to  the 
spectators  as  he  demanded  to  be  let  alone. 

"They  have  n't  got  any  right  to  block  this  street ; 
it's  against  the  law  to  shut  up  a  street  that  way!" 

The  policemen  dragged  him  from  the  seat  and  a 
chauffeur  from  one  of  the  waiting  cars  jumped  in 
and  backed  the  machine  out  of  the  way.  Nan 
waited  uncertainly  to  see  what  disposition  the 
police  were  making  of  Billy;  but  having  lifted  the 
blockade  they  left  him  to  his  own  devices.  He  had 
been  drinking;  that  was  the  only  imaginable  ex 
planation  of  his  conduct,  and  her  newly  estab 
lished  confidence  in  him  was  gone.  However,  it 
would  be  best  to  wait  and  attempt  to  speak  to 
him,  as  he  might  mingle  in  the  crowd  and  make 

219 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

inquiries  for  her  that  would  publish  the  fact  that 
they  had  planned  flight. 

Suddenly  she  heard  her  name  spoken,  and  turned 
to  find  Eaton  beside  her. 

"Too  bad  about  Copeland,"  he  remarked  in  his 
usual  careless  fashion;  "but  one  of  those  policemen 
promised  to  see  that  he  went  home." 

She  was  bewildered  by  his  sudden  appearance. 
Eaton  never  missed  anything;  he  would  certainly 
make  note  of  her  gown  and  hat  as  not  proper  for 
occasions  of  highest  ceremony.  Nor  was  it  likely 
that  he  had  overlooked  the  two  suitcases  strapped 
to  the  rear  of  Billy's  car. 

"Looked  for  you  all  over  the  church,  and  had 
given  you  up,"  Eaton  was  saying.  "You  can't  say 
no  —  simply  got  to  have  you!  Stupid  to  be  pulling 
off  a  wedding  the  night  we're  dedicating  the  new 
swimming-pool  at  the  Wright  Settlement  House. 
Programme  all  shot  to  pieces,  but  Mamie  Pem 
broke's  going  to  sing  and  you've  got  to  do  a  reci 
tation.  Favor  to  an  old  friend !  They  dumped  the 
full  responsibility  on  me  at  six  o'clock  —  six,  mind 
you!" 

Nan  bewildered,  uncertain,  suffered  him  to  pilot 
her  round  the  corner,  wondering  how  much  he 
knew,  and  trying  to  adjust  herself  to  this  new  situa 
tion.  A  car  that  she  recognized  as  the  Pembrokes' 
stood  at  the  curb. 

"Oh,  come  right  along,  Nan;  there's  no  use  say 
ing  you  won't!"  cried  Mamie  Pembroke. 

220 


FATE  AND  BILLY  COPELAND 

The  Pembrokes  were  among  those  who  had 
dropped  her  after  she  became  identified  with  the 
Kinneys,  and  her  rage  at  Copeland  was  mitigated 
by  their  cordiality. 

"Hello,  Mamie!  What  on  earth  do  you  want 
with  me!" 

"Oh,  it's  a  lark;  one  of  this  crazy  Eaton  man's 
ideas." 

Nan  knew  that  she  had  been  recognized  by  many 
people,  and  that  even  if  Copeland  had  not  made 
a  fool  of  himself  the  elopement  was  now  out  of  the 
question.  She  felt  giddy  and  leaned  heavily  on 
Eaton's  arm  as  he  helped  her  into  the  car. 

"You  were  alone,  weren't  you,  Nan?"  Eaton 
asked  as  the  machine  started. 

"Yes,"  she  faltered,  settling  back  into  a  seat 
beside  Mrs.  Pembroke. 

"Then  we'd  better  stop  at  your  house  so  Mr. 
Farley  wont  be  troubled  about  you." 

As  she  had  not  meant  to  return  at  all,  it  seemed 
absurd  to  go  back  now  to  say  that  she  was  going 
to  a  settlement  house  entertainment  and  would  be 
home  in  an  hour  or  so.  The  telltale  letter  could 
hardly  have  been  found  yet  and  she  must  dispose 
of  it  immediately.  The  car  whirled  round  to  the 
Parleys'  and  Nan  let  herself  in  with  her  key. 

Farley  was  awake,  reading  a  magazine  article 
on  "The  Ohio  in  the  Civil  War." 

"Back  already!  Getting  married  doesn't  take 
long,  does  it?  —  not  as  long  as  getting  out  of  it!" 

221 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Oh,  the  wedding  was  stunning!"  she  cried 
breathlessly.  "I  never  saw  so  much  gold  braid  in 
my  life.  I'm  going  with  the  Pembrokes  and  Mr. 
Eaton  down  to  dedicate  a  swimming-pool  at  the 
Wright  Settlement  House.  I  just  stopped  to  tell 
you,  so  you  would  n't  worry." 

"  Tom  Pembroke  going  down  there?  "  he  growled. 
"I  thought  that  tank  was  for  poor  boys.  What's 
Eaton  got  to  do  with  it?" 

She  explained  that  Eaton  was  substituting  for 
the  president  of  the  Settlement  House  Association, 
who  had  been  called  from  town,  and  that  he  had 
asked  her  to  recite  something. 

"Well,  'The  Ole  Swimmin'  Hole'  will  come  in 
handy.  I  always  like  the  way  you  do  that.  Run 
along  now!" 

She  darted  into  her  room  and  found  the  letter 
just  as  she  had  left  it  on  the  mantel.  She  tore  it 
into  strips  and  threw  them  into  her  beribboned 
waste-paper  basket.  Her  revulsion  of  feeling  was 
complete.  It  was  like  waking  from  a  nightmare  to 
find  herself  secure  amid  familiar  surroundings.  She 
turned  to  Farley's  room  again  and  impulsively 
bent  and  kissed  him. 

"Ain't  you  gone  yet?"  he  demanded,  with  the 
gruffness  that  often  concealed  his  pleasure. 

"I'm  off  for  sure  this  time,"  she  called  back. 
"Thanks  for  suggesting  'The  Ole  Swimmin'  Hole' 
-  that's  just  the  thing!" 

They  found  the  hall  packed  with  an  impatient 

222 


FATE  AND  BILLY  COPELAND 

crowd.  Eaton  led  the  way  to  the  platform  and 
opened  the  exercises  without  formality.  The  super 
intendent  of  the  house  dealt  in  statistics  as  to  the 
service  rendered  by  the  Settlement.  Mamie  Pem 
broke  sang  "The  Rosary"  and  responded  to  an 
encore. 

Nan  had  not  faced  so  large  an  audience  since  her 
appearance  as  Rosalind  at  school.  She  drew  off  her 
gloves  before  her  name  was  announced,  and  as  she 
stood  up  put  aside  her  hat.  At  least  half  a  dozen 
nationalities  were  represented  in  the  auditorium; 
and  she  resolved  to  try  first  a  sketch  in  which  an 
Irishman,  an  Italian  and  a  German  debated  in  brisk 
dialogue  the  ownership  of  a  sum  of  money.  She  had 
heard  it  done  in  vaudeville  by  a  comedian  of  reputa 
tion  and  had  mastered  it  for  dinner-table  uses.  She 
had  added  to  it,  recast,  and  improved  it,  and  she 
now  gave  it  with  all  the  spirit  and  nice  differentia 
tion  of  which  she  was  capable.  Eaton,  who  had 
heard  her  several  times  before,  was  surprised  at  her 
success;  she  had  taken  pains;  and  how  often  Eaton, 
in  thinking  of  Nan,  had  wished  she  would  take 
pains! 

There  was  no  ignoring  the  demand  for  more,  and 
she  gave  another  comic  piece  and  added  "The  Ole 
Swimmin'  Hole"  for  good  measure.  She  received 
her  applause  graciously  and  sat  down  wondering 
at  her  own  happiness.  Mrs.  Pembroke  patted  her 
hand;  she  heard  somebody  saying,  "Yes,  Farley's 
daughter,  —  adopted  her  when  she  was  a  child!" 

223 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE  PUDDING 

Eaton  was  announcing  the  close  of  the  pro 
gramme.  It  was  his  pleasant  office,  he  said,  to  de 
liver  the  natatorium  that  had  been  added  to  the 
Settlement  House  into  the  keeping  of  the  people  of 
the  neighborhood. 

"  Many  lives  go  to  the  making  of  a  city  like  this. 
Most  of  you  know  little  of  the  men  who  have  built 
this  city,  but  you  profit  by  their  care  and  labor  as 
much  as  though  you  and  your  fathers  had  been 
born  here.  It  is  the  hope  of  all  of  us  who  come 
here  to  meet  you  and  to  help  you,  if  we  can,  that 
you  may  be  builders  yourselves,  adding  to  the  dig 
nity  and  honor  and  prosperity  of  the  community. 

"  Now,  only  one  man  besides  myself  knows  who 
gave  the  money  for  the  building  of  the  swimming- 
pool.  The  other  man  is  the  donor  himself.  He  is 
one  of  the  old  merchants  of  this  city,  a  man  known 
for  his  honesty  and  fair  dealing.  He  told  me  not 
to  mention  his  name;  and  I'm  not  going  to  do  it. 
But  I  think  that  if  some  one  who  is  very  dear  to 
him  —  the  person  who  is  the  dearest  of  all  in  the 
world  to  him  —  should  hand  the  keys  to  the  super 
intendent,  I  should  not  be  telling  —  and  yet,  you 
would  understand  who  this  kind  friend  is." 

He  crossed  the  platform  and  handed  Nan  a  bunch 
of  keys. 

"I'm  sure,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  interested 
spectators,  "that  you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  the 
keys  to  the  bathhouse  have  come  to  you  through 
Miss  Farley." 

224 


FATE  AND   BILLY  GOPELAND 

Tears  sprang  to  Nan's  eyes  as  she  rose  and  handed 
the  keys  to  the  superintendent  amid  cheers  and 
applause.  She  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  dem 
onstration.  They  did  not  know  —  those  simple 
foreign  folk  who  lifted  their  faces  in  gratitude  and 
admiration  —  that  an  hour  earlier  it  had  been  in 
her  heart  to  commit  an  act  of  grossest  ingratitude 
against  their  benefactor.  She  turned  away  with 
infinite  relief  that  the  exercises  were  over,  and 
followed  the  rest  of  the  visitors  to  inspect  the  house. 
It  was  like  Farley  not  to  tell  any  one  of  his  gift; 
and  she  felt  like  a  fraud  and  a  cheat  to  stand  in  his 
place,  receiving  praise  that  was  intended  for  him. 

On  the  way  home  she  was  very  quiet.  The  many 
emotions  of  the  day  had  so  wearied  her  that  she  had 
no  spirit  to  project  herself  into  the  future.  And  it 
seemed  futile  to  attempt  to  forecast  a  day's  events, 
when  she  had,  apparently,  so  little  control  of  her 
own  destiny. 

"Hope  Mr.  Farley  won't  abuse  me  for  giving 
him  away?"  Eaton  remarked,  as  he  left  her  at  the 
door.  "But  the  temptation  was  too  strong  — 
could  n't  resist  putting  you  into  the  picture.  Your 
recitations  made  a  big  hit;  and  those  people  are 
real  critics!" 

She  lay  in  the  window-seat  till  daybreak,  dream 
ing,  staring  at  the  stars. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AN  ABRUPT   ENDING 

NAN  sang  as  she  dressed  the  next  morning.  The 
gods  had  ordained  that  she  should  n't  marry  Billy, 
and  after  her  uncertainties  on  that  point  she  was 
relieved  to  find  that  the  higher  powers  had  taken 
the  troublesome  business  out  of  her  hands.  She 
was  surprised  at  her  light-hearted  acceptance  of  the 
situation.  She  had  n't  married  Billy  and  she  sang 
in  the  joy  of  her  freedom. 

Just  as  she  was  ready  to  leave  her  room  the  maid 
brought  up  a  special  delivery  letter  from  Copeland. 
It  had  been  posted  at  six  o'clock.  She  tore  open 
the  envelope  and  read  frowningly :  — 

Dear  Nan:  — 

Sorry  about  the  row  at  the  church  last  night. 
Never  occurred  to  me  that  there 'd  be  such  a  jam. 
I  hung  around  the  neighborhood  as  long  as  I  could, 
hoping  to  find  you.  But  it  will  be  nicer,  after  all,  to 
make  the  run  by  daylight.  Telephone  me  where  we 
can  meet  this  morning,  say  at  ten.  I  shall  be  at  the 
office  early  and  shall  expect  to  hear  from  you  by 
nine-thirty.  For  God's  sake,  don't  fail  me,  Nan! 

This  was  scawled  in  pencil  on  Hamilton  Club 
paper.  She  propped  it  against  her  dressing-table 

226 


AN  ABRUPT   ENDING 

mirror  and  stared  at  it  wonderingly.  It  did  not 
seem  possible  that  she  had  ever  contemplated  run 
ning  away  with  Billy.  The  remembrance  of  him  as 
he  sat  in  his  car,  quarreling  with  the  police,  with  the 
eyes  of  a  hundred  people  upon  him,  sickened  her. 

Either  you  love  me,  Nan,  or  you  don't;  you 
either  have  been  fooling  me  all  along  or  you  mean 
to  stand  by  me  now  and  make  me  the  happiest  man 
alive.  .  .  . 

She  smiled  at  Billy's  efforts  to  be  pathetic  —  a 
quizzical  little  smile.  The  paper  smelt  odiously  of 
tobacco  smoke.  She  tore  the  note  to  pieces  and  let 
them  slip  slowly  from  her  hand  into  her  waste- 
basket.  No;  she  did  not  love  Billy.  Only  a  few 
hours  earlier  she  had  been  ready  to  run  away  with 
him ;  but  that  was  all  over  now.  She  was  sorry  for 
Billy,  but  she  did  not  love  him.  How  could  she 
have  ever  been  foolish  enough  to  think  she  did! 
But  why,  she  wondered,  was  she  forever  yielding  to 
impulses  from  which  a  kind  fate  might  not  always 
protect  her?  "You  little  fool!"  she  ejaculated. 
A  moment  later  she  stood  smiling  in  Farley's  door. 

"  Nan,  look  here  what  they  say  about  you  in  the 
paper! "  he  said,  glancing  at  her  over  his  spectacles. 
"I  told  Eaton  not  to  blab  about  that  swimmin'- 
tank  business  and  here  they've  got  us  all  in  the 
paper!" 

"Oh,  if  only  you  could  have  been  there,  papa!" 
227 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

She  saw  that  he  was  pleased.  He  bade  her  ring 
for  the  maid  to  bring  up  their  breakfast ;  he  wanted 
to  know  all  about  the  exercises  at  the  Settlement 
House. 

"I  guess  you  made  a  hit  all  right,"  he  said 
proudly,  after  making  her  read  the  account  aloud. 
"I  never  liked  your  sayin'  pieces  in  public;  but  I 
guess  if  you  can  tickle  a  crowd  like  that  I  ain't  got 
any  right  to  kick." 

The  reporter  had  built  his  story  around  her; 
and  had  done  full  justice  to  her  part  in  the  surprise 
of  the  evening.  Her  recitations  were  praised  ex 
travagantly  as  worthy  of  a  professional;  "it  is  un 
fortunate,"  ran  the  article,  "that  Miss  Farley's 
elocutionary  talents  are  so  rarely  displayed  in 
public." 

It  was  compensation  for  much  greater  catas 
trophes  than  the  loss  of  Billy  Copeland  to  find 
Farley  so  pleased. 

"  It's  kind  o'  nice  to  do  things  like  that  —  to  do 
things  for  people,"  Farley  remarked  wistfully,  after 
subjecting  Nan  to  a  prolonged  cross-examination. 
"  I  'm  sorry  now  I  didn't  tell  you  about  that  swim- 
min'  pool.  You've  got  a  mighty  kind  heart,  Nan. 
I  used  to  think  I  would  n't  make  any  will,  but  let 
what  I  've  got  go  to  you,  and  leave  it  to  you  to 
help  some  of  these  schemes  for  the  poor.  You 
know  you  've  worried  me  sometimes  —  we  won't 
talk  about  that  any  more;  I  guess  it's  all  over 
now." 

228 


AN  ABRUPT  ENDING 

The  questioning  look  he  bent  upon  her  gave  her 
conscience  a  twinge.  If  Billy  had  n't  become  em 
broiled  with  the  police  she  would  not  be  listening 
to  Farley's  praise! 

"Yes,  papa;  it's  all  over,"  she  replied  softly,  and 
bent  down  and  kissed  him. 

When  later  she  called  Copeland  on  the  telephone 
it  was  to  laugh  at  their  misadventure  —  it  seemed 
safer  to  make  light  of  it. 

"  Please  forget  all  about  it,  Billy.  It  was  n't  my 
fault  or  yours  either;  it  was  all  wrong  any  way. 
No—" 

He  was  talking  from  his  desk  at  the  store  and 
as  he  began  to  argue  she  dismissed  him  firmly. 

"Please  don't  be  cross,  Billy.  You  ought  to  be 
as  glad  as  I  am  that  we  did  n't  do  it.  No;  never 
again!  Cheer  up;  that 's  a  nice  boy!" 

She  hung  up  on  his  angry  reply. 

Nan  spent  all  day  at  home  virtuously  address 
ing  herself  to  household  affairs,  much  to  the  sur 
prise  of  the  cook  and  maid. 

Mamie  Pembroke  stopped  to  leave  a  huge  bunch 
of  chrysanthemums  for  Mr.  Farley.  He  sent  for 
her  to  come  to  his  room  and  asked  her  all  about 
the  evening  at  the  Settlement  House.  Mamie's 
appearance  added  to  his  happiness.  He  had  been 
deeply  grieved  when  Mamie  and  the  Harrington 
girls  dropped  Nan;  it  was  a  good  sign  that  they 
were  beginning  to  evince  a  renewed  interest  in  her. 
He  attributed  the  change  in  their  attitude  to  Nan's 

229 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

abandonment  of  Copeland  and  the  Kinneys,  never 
dreaming  in  his  innocence  of  the  quiet  missionary 
work  that  Eaton  had  been  doing  with  the  cautious 
mothers  of  these  young  women. 

"You  'd  better  give  Nan  some  work  to  do  on  some 
of  your  charity  schemes,  Mamie.  She's  been  shut 
up  here  with  me  so  much  she  has  n't  got  around  with 
the  rest  of  you  girls  as  I  want  her  to." 

"Oh,  don't  think  I  do  so  much!  Mamma  does 
it  for  the  whole  family.  I  'm  sure  Nan  does  as  much 
as  any  of  the  girls." 

"Thanks  for  your  kind  words,  Mamie;  you  know 
perfectly  well  they  dropped  me  from  the  Kinder 
garten  Board  for  cutting  all  the  meetings.  But  I 
think  we  all  ought  to  help  in  these  things.  It  cer 
tainly  opened  my  eyes  to  see  that  crowd  down  there 
last  night ;  I  had  no  idea  the  Settlement  had  grown 
so  big." 

"  I  wish  you  and  Mamie  would  go  down  and  look 
at  the  Boys'  Club  sometime.  They've  only  got  a 
tumble-down  house,  but  they're  talkin'  of  doin' 
something  better.  A  poor  boy  has  a  mighty  hard 
time.  When  I  was  a  boy  down  on  the  Ohio  - 

The  story  was  a  familiar  one  to  Nan,  and  as  he 
talked  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  will  in  which 
his  provisions  for  the  Boys'  Club  had  so  angered 
her. 

All  day  she  marveled  at  her  happiness,  her  newly- 
awakened  unselfishness.  In  her  gratitude  for  what 
she  sincerely  believed  to  have  been  a  providential 

230 


AN  ABRUPT  ENDING 

deliverance  from  Copeland  she  voluntarily  gave 
the  nurse  the  night  off. 

Her  good  cheer  had  communicated  itself  to  Far 
ley.  The  nurse  was  a  nuisance,  he  said,  and  he 
would  soon  be  well  enough  to  dispense  with  her 
altogether.  Over  the  supper  they  ate  together  in 
his  room  she  exerted  herself  to  amuse  him  and  he 
proved  unusually  amiable.  The  afternoon  paper's 
account  of  his  gift  of  the  swimming-pool  revived 
this  as  a  topic  of  conversation. 

"I  have  n't  done  as  much  as  I  ought  to  for  the 
poor  and  unlucky.  I  expect  they've  called  me  a 
pretty  hard  specimen ;  and  I  've  turned  down  lots 
of  these  people  that's  always  chasin'  round  with 
subscription  papers.  But  I  always  had  an  idea  I  'd 
like  to  do  something  that  would  count.  I  'm  sorry 
now  I  did  n't  give  those  Boys'  Club  folks  a  boost 
while  I  could  see  the  money  spent  myself.  I  Ve 
tried  makin'  wills  and  ain't  sure  about  any  of  'em. 
I  got  a  good  mind  to  burn  'em  all,  Nan,  and  leave  it 
up  to  you  to  give  away  what  you  think 's  right.  Only 
I  would  n't  want  you  to  feel  bound  to  do  it.  These 
things  don't  count  for  much  unless  you  feel  in 
your  heart  you  want  to  do  'em." 

She  tried  to  divert  his  thoughts  to  other  chan 
nels,  but  he  persisted  in  discussing  ways  and  means 
of  helping  the  poor  and  unfortunate.  She  was  sur 
prised  at  his  intimate  knowledge  of  local  philan 
thropic  organizations;  for  a  number  of  them  he 
expressed  the  greatest  contempt,  as  impractical  and 

231 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

likely  to  do  harm.  Others  he  commended  warmly 
and  urged  her  to  acquaint  herself  with  their  meth 
ods  and  needs. 

"We  ought  to  do  those  things  ourselves,  while 
we're  alive.  You  can't  tell  what  they'll  do 
with  your  money  after  you're  dead,"  he  kept 
repeating. 

She  wondered  whether  he  regretted  now  having 
made  the  will  that  had  caused  her  so  much  anguish. 
Perhaps  .  .  .  But  her  resentment  had  vanished. 
His  solicitude  for  friendless  boys,  based  upon  his 
own  forlorn  youth,  impressed  her  deeply.  It  was 
out  of  the  same  spirit  that  he  had  lifted  her  from 
poverty  —  she  had  even  greater  cause  for  gratitude 
and  generosity  than  he,  and  she  said  so  in  terms 
that  touched  him. 

"You  must  n't  think  of  those  things  any  more, 
papa,"  she  said  finally.  "  If  you  have  a  bad  night, 
Miss  Rankin  will  give  me  a  scolding.  I  'm  going  to 
read  you  something." 

"All  right,"  he  acquiesced.  "To-morrow  I'll 
talk  to  you  some  more  about  my  will.  It 's  worried 
me  a  whole  lot ;  I  want  to  do  the  right  thing,  Nan ; 
I  want  you  to  know  that." 

"Of  course  I  know  that,  papa;  I'd  be  a  mighty 
stupid  girl  if  I  did  n't;  so  don't  waste  your  strength 
arguing  with  me.  You've  been  talking  too  much; 
what  shall  I  read?" 

"Don't  read  me  any  of  this  new-fangled  stuff. 
Take  down  'Huck  Finn'  and  read  that  chapter 

232 


AN  ABRUPT  ENDING 

about  the  two  crooks  Huck  meets  on  the  river. 
You  ain't  read  me  that  lately." 

He  lay  very  quiet  until  she  had  finished  the 
chapter. 

"Much  obliged,"  he  said  absently.  "You  run 
along  now.  I'll  be  all  right." 

In  the  hall  she  met  the  maid  coming  to  announce 
a  caller. 

Jerry,  chastely  attired  in  a  new  fall  suit,  greeted 
her  with  the  ambassadorial  dignity  that  he  as 
sumed  for  social  occasions,  with  apologies  to  J.  C.  E. 
He  could  bow  and  shake  hands  like  his  idol  and 
mentor,  and  though  his  manner  of  speech  was  still 
his  own,  he  had  greatly  subdued  its  original  vio 
lences.  The  area  of  collar  and  cuff  that  could  be  sus 
tained  on  a  salary  lately  increased  to  eighty  dollars 
a  month  might  provoke  smiles;  but  Jerry  was  not 
troubled.  By  discreetly  soliciting  custom  for  a 
tailor  who  made  a  twenty-five  dollar  suit  which 
only  the  most  sophisticated  sartorial  critic  could 
distinguish  from  a  sixty-dollar  creation,  he  got  his 
clothes  at  a  discount.  While  he  had  not  yet  acquired 
a  dress-suit  or  a  silk  hat,  he  boasted  a  dinner-coat 
and  a  cutaway.  He  had  dedicated  the  latter  by 
wearing  it  boldly  to  Christ  Church,  where  he  was 
ushered  to  the  third  pew  from  the  chancel  and  placed 
beside  a  lady  whose  kneelings  and  risings  he  imi 
tated  sedulously.  This  was  Eaton's  church,  and 
while  that  gentleman  was  not  present  on  that 
particular  morning,  a  tablet  commemorating  his 

233 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

father's  virtues  (twenty  years  warden  and  vestry 
man)  gave  Jerry  a  thrill  of  pride  and  a  sense 
of  perspective.  His  mother  had  been  a  Camp- 
bellite,  and  a  vested  clergy  and  choir,  sprung 
upon  him  suddenly,  had  awed  him  to  a  mood  of 
humility. 

"I'd  been  wondering  as  I  came  up  what  I'd  do 
if  you  were  out:  I  could  n't  decide  whether  to  jump 
in  the  river  or  lie  down  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
and  be  killed  by  a  large,  fat  auto.  Nan,"  —  he  held 
her  hand  and  gazed  into  her  face  with  tragic  in 
tensity,  —  "Nan,  you  have  saved  my  life!" 

She  met  him  promptly  on  his  own  ground. 

"I  should  have  worn  mourning  for  you,  Jerry; 
you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"The  thought  seems  to  give  you  pleasure.  But 
I  like  you  best  in  blue  —  that  suit  you  had  on  the 
day  we  paddled  up  the  river  still  haunts  me." 

"Oh,  that  was  a  last  year's  bird-nest.  I  have  a 
lot  better  clothes  than  that,  but  I  don't  wear  them 
to  picnics." 

"You'd  be  dazzling  in  anything;  I'm  dead  sure 
of  that!" 

He  ran  on  in  his  usual  key  for  some  time,  and 
then  rose  abruptly  and  walked  toward  her. 

"Are  we  quite  alone?"  he  whispered  tragically. 

"We  are,"  she  replied,  imitating  his  tone.  "I 
hope  you  don't  mean  to  rob  the  house." 

"No,"  he  replied;  "I  did  n't  come  to  steal;  I've 
brought  you  a  large  beautiful  present." 

234 


AN  ABRUPT  ENDING 

This  she  assumed  to  be  the  preliminary  to  a  joke 
of  some  kind. 

"I  left  it  behind  that  big  rosebush  in  the  yard 
and   I'll  bring  it  in  —  nobody  likely   to   come  — 
no?" 

"No;  the  nurse  is  out  and  I  just  now  heard  the 
maid  climbing  the  back  stairs  to  her  room." 

A  smothered  "Oh ! "  greeted  him  as  he  reappeared 
bearing  the  suit-case  she  had  entrusted  to  Cope- 
land's  messenger  the  day  before.  He  placed  it 
quietly  by  the  door,  a  little  shamefacedly,  in  spite 
of  his  efforts  to  pass  the  matter  off  lightly.  Nan 
flushed,  staring  at  him  defiantly. 

"  I  saw  this  down  at  the  works  and  I  just  thought 
I'd  bring  it  up.  Maybe,"  he  said  reflectively,  "it 
ain't  yours;  but  I  thought  I'd  take  a  chance." 

"N.  F."  neatly  printed  on  the  end  of  the  bag 
advertised  its  ownership  to  any  observant  eye. 

"You  and  I  are  good  friends,  I  hope,"  she  said 
uneasily. 

"Don't  be  silly,  Nan;  if  we 're  not,  what  are  we?" 

This  was  not  a  question  she  cared  to  debate ;  the 
immediate  matter  was  the  narrowness  of  her  escape 
from  a  marriage  with  Copeland  and  just  what  she 
should  tell  Jerry  about  it. 

"If  you  know  about  —  that  - 

"  I  make  it  my  business  never  to  know  anything! 
I  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  that  bag.  So 
we'll  just  forget  it." 

Seeing  that  her  eyes  rested   nervously  on  the 

235 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

suitcase,  he  carried  it  into  the  hall  out  of  range  of 
any  chance  caller's  eyes. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  absently  as  he  came  back. 
He  began  speaking  volubly  of  the  delights  of 
"Ivanhoe"  which  Eaton  had  lately  given  him  to 
read. 

"How  many  people  know  about  —  that?"  she 
demanded,  breaking  in  sharply  upon  his  praise  of 
Scott. 

"Oh,  the  bag?  Not  a  soul;  I  told  you  not  to 
worry  about  that.  I  found  it  behind  the  door  in  his 
private  office.  Purely  accidental  —  honest,  it  was! 
He  wasn't  feeling  well  to-day,"  he  added.  "He 
hung  around  the  store  all  morning  looking  pretty 
glum  and  did  n't  show  up  at  all  this  afternoon.  I 
went  to  the  club  and  fished  him  out  about  six  o'clock 
and  took  him  home  in  a  taxi.  That's  all." 

Reduced  to  terms,  Billy  had  characteristically 
celebrated  the  failure  of  the  elopement  by  con 
tinuing  the  drunk  he  had  begun  the  night  before. 
Her  good  luck  had  not  deserted  her  if  no  one  but 
Jerry  knew  that  her  suit-case,  packed  for  flight, 
had  stood  all  day  in  Copeland's  office.  Jerry's  in 
tuitions  were  too  keen  for  her  to  attempt  dissimu 
lation.  It  would  be  better  to  confess  and  assure 
herself  of  his  secrecy. 

"You  don't  need  to  worry  about  that  little 
matter,  Nan,"  Jerry  continued  reassuringly.  "  No 
body's  going  to  know  anything  about  it.  Nobody 
does  know  anything  about  it  — " 

236 


AN  ABRUPT   ENDING 

"Mr.  Eaton?"  she  suggested  faintly. 

"I  haven't  seen  Cecil  for  two  days.  I've  told 
you  all  there  is  to  tell.  I  don't  know  any  more 
and  I  don't  want  to  know.  Now,  forget  it! 
Only"  —  he  deliberated  a  moment  and  then  added 
brokenly  —  "only,  for  God's  sake,  don't  ever  try 
it  again!" 

It  flashed  upon  her  suddenly  that  the  presence 
of  her  suit-case  in  Copeland's  office  was  susceptible 
of  grave  misconstruction. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  whole  story,  Jerry; 
I  think  I'll  feel  happier  if  I  do." 

"Well,  you  don't  have  to  tell  me  anything; 
remember  that!" 

"Maybe  not,  Jerry.  But  I  feel  that  having 
known  me  away  back  in  the  old  times,  you  '11  un 
derstand  better  than  anybody  else." 

There  was  an  appeal  in  this  that  filled  his  heart 
with  pride.  He  was  struck  with  humility  that  a 
girl  like  Nan  should  confide  in  him.  He  had  not  yet 
recovered  from  his  surprise  that  she  tolerated  him 
at  all. 

"Please  don't  think  I  was  going  to  do  anything 
wrong,  Jerry,"  she  said  pleadingly;  "we  were  to 
have  been  married  last  night;  it  wasn't  —  it  wasn't 
anything  worse!"  she  faltered. 

"Nan!"  he  gasped;  "don't  say  things  like  that! 
I  would  n't  think  it  —  I  had  n't  thought  it  of  him! 
And  you — !" 

"Well,  you  might   have  thought  it,"  she  said, 

237 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

with  a  despairing  note;  "but  you  did  n't  because 
you're  my  good  friend  and  a  gentleman." 

He  was  so  astounded  by  her  unsparing  self-con 
demnation  that  he  almost  missed  this  heart-warm 
ing  praise.  She  hurried  on  with  the  story,  tears 
filling  her  eyes.  It  was  an  undreamed-of  thing  that 
he  should  see  his  divinity  weep.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  felt  that  he,  too,  was  capable  of  tears. 
But  he  must  restore  her  equanimity,  and  before 
she  concluded  he  had  decided  to  pass  the  whole 
thing  off  as  a  joke. 

"Forget  it,  Nan!  You  never  really  meant  to  do 
it,  anyhow.  If  Cecil  had  n't  turned  up,  it's  a  safe 
bet  you'd  have  weakened  before  you  got  into  the 
boss's  machine.  It  was  a  good  joke  —  on  the  boss; 
that's  all  I  see  in  it.  Come  on,  now,  and  give  a 
merry  ha-ha.  The  only  sad  thing  about  it  is  that 
it  put  the  boss  on  the  blink  all  day.  If  he'd  been 
a  real  sport  he  would  n't  have  let  you  escape  so  easy ; 
looks  as  though  he  was  n't  exactly  crazy  about  it 
himself!" 

"Oh,  you  think  he  was  n't!"  she  flared. 

"  I  thought  I  'd  get  a  rise  out  of  you  with  that! 
Take  it  from  me,  if  I  'd  framed  up  a  thing  like  that 
I  'd  've  pulled  up  large  shade  trees  and  upset  tall 
buildings  putting  it  over.  But  all  you've  got  to 
do  is  to  charge  it  up  to  profit  and  loss.  Hereafter 
you'd  better  not  make  any  engagements  without 
seeing  me,"  he  concluded  daringly. 

"There  may  be  something  in  that,"  she  laughed. 
238 


AN  ABRUPT  ENDING 

"I'm  glad  I  told  you,  Jerry.  It  helps  a  lot  to  tell 
your  troubles  to  some  one  —  and  you  don't  think 
much  worse  of  me?" 

"Oh,  too  much  sympathy  would  n't  be  good  for 
you ! "  he  said,  looking  at  her  fixedly.  "Your  trouble 
is,  Nan,  if  you  will  take  it  from  an  old  friend,  that 
you  've  had  too  soft  a  time.  You  need  a  jar  or  two 
to  make  you  watch  the  corners.  So  do  I;  so  does 
everybody!  When  things  come  easy  for  me  I  get 
nervous.  I  Ve  got  to  have  something  to  fight ;  but 
I  don't  mean  punching  heads;  not  any  more.  Cecil 
says  his  great  aim  in  life  is  to  teach  me  to  fight  with 
my  brains  instead  of  my  fists  and  feet.  But  it's 
hard  work,  considering  the  number  of  heads  there 
are  that  need  punching." 

She  was  touched  by  his  anxiety  to  serve  her,  to 
see  her  always  in  the  best  possible  light.  He  was 
a  comforting  person,  this  Jerry.  His  philosophy  was 
much  sounder  than  her  own ;  he  was  infinitely  wiser. 
He  had  done  much  better  with  his  life  than  she  had 
with  hers,  and  the  advantages  had  been  so  im 
mensely  in  her  favor !  There  was  no  one  else  in  the 
world,  she  reflected,  to  whom  she  could  confide 
as  in  him.  She  marveled  that  she  trusted  him  so 
implicitly  —  and  he  knew  how  little  she  merited 
trust!  A  sudden  impulse  carried  her  across  the 
room  to  where  he  stood  fingering  a  book. 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,  Jerry!"  she  said  with 
deep  feeling. 

Her  hand  touched  his  —  a  light,  caressing  stroke ; 

239 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

then  she  sprang  away  from  him,  abashed.  The 
color  mounted  to  his  face,  and  he  thrust  the  hand 
awkwardly  into  his  pocket.  The  touch  of  her  hand 
had  thrilled  him;  a  wave  of  tenderness  swept 
him. 

' '  I  want  to  be  good  to  you ;  I  want  to  help  you 
if  I  can,"  he  said  simply. 

But  he  was  afraid  of  Nan  in  tears,  and  there 
were  tears  in  the  eyes  with  which  she  now  regarded 
him.  She  turned  away,  slipping  her  handkerchief 
from  her  sleeve.  This  would  never  do.  He  waited 
a  moment,  then  began  talking,  as  though  nothing 
had  happened,  of  old  times  on  the  river,  of  steam 
boat  men  and  their  ways,  in  the  hope  of  restoring 
her  tranquillity. 

"I  guess  I  had  my  share  of  fun  down  there;  if  I 
could  be  a  kid  again  I  'd  want  to  be  born  right  down 
there  on  the  old  Ohio.  I  remember  once  - 

A  muffled  crash  in  the  room  above  sent  her  flying 
into  the  hall  and  upstairs. 

"Papa!"  she  called,  standing  in  the  doorway  of 
Farley's  room  and  fumbling  for  the  electric  button. 

As  the  ceiling  lights  flooded  the  room  she  called 
loudly  to  Jerry. 

Farley  lay  on  the  floor  in  a  crumpled  heap.  The 
crash  that  had  accompanied  his  collapse  had  been 
due  to  the  overturning  of  the  electric  table  lamp, 
at  which  he  had  caught  as  he  felt  himself  falling. 

Jerry  was  already  on  his  knees  beside  the  prone 
figure. 

240 


AN   ABRUPT  ENDING 

Nan  snatched  the  receiver  of  the  telephone  from 
its  bracket  and  called  the  regular  physician;  and 
then,  remembering  another  doctor  who  lived  just 
around  the  corner,  she  summoned  him  also.  Amidon 
lifted  Farley  and  placed  him  on  the  bed.  While 
waiting  for  her  numbers  she  told  him  where  to  find 
a  restorative  the  doctor  had  provided  for  emer 
gencies,  and  before  she  finished  telephoning  he  had 
tried  vainly  to  force  a  spoonful  of  the  liquid  between 
Farley's  lips. 

"It's  no  use,"  said  Jerry,  placing  his  hand  over 
the  stricken  man's  heart. 

"No!  No!  It  can't  be  possible!"  Nan  moaned. 
"He'd  been  so  well  to-day!" 

In  a  few  minutes  both  physicians  were  in  the 
room.  They  made  a  hurried  examination,  asked 
a  few  questions,  and  said  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done. 

The  indomitable  spirit  of  Timothy  Farley  had 
escaped  from  its  prison-house;  what  was  mortal 
of  him  remained  strangely  white  and  still.  Nan, 
kneeling  beside  the  bed,  wept  softly.  Her  foster- 
mother  had  died  after  a  brief  illness  and  she  had 
experienced  no  such  shock  as  now  numbed  her. 
She  had,  after  all,  been  closer  to  Farley  than  to  his 
wife.  Mrs.  Farley,  with  all  her  gentleness  and 
sweetness,  had  lacked  the  positive  traits  that  made 
Timothy  Farley  an  interesting,  masterful  char 
acter. 

"There  will  be  things  to  do,"  Amidon  was  saying 
241 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

gently.  "Do  you  mind  if  I  tell  Mr.  Eaton?  He'd 
want  to  know." 

"No;  I  should  like  him  to  come,"  she  replied. 

Jerry  went  below  with  the  physicians  and  called 
Eaton  on  the  telephone  in  the  lower  hall. 

Nan  rose  and  began  straightening  the  room. 
Farley  had  evidently  drawn  on  his  dressing-gown 
with  a  view  to  remaining  up  some  time,  and  had 
walked  to  the  quaint  little  table  that  had  so  long 
stood  near  the  window.  Nan  saw  now  what  had 
escaped  her  when  she  rushed  into  the  room.  The 
oblong  top  of  the  table  had  been  so  turned  that  it 
disclosed  a  compartment  back  of  the  trio  of  drawers 
in  which  Mrs.  Farley  had  kept  her  sewing  articles. 
Four  long  envelopes  lay  on  the  lid ;  two  others  had 
fallen  to  the  floor  and  lay  among  the  debris  of  the 
lamp.  At  a  glance  she  saw  that  these  were  similar 
to  the  ones  she  had  seen  Farley  hiding  on  several 
occasions,  and  the  counterpart  of  the  envelope 
containing  the  will  she  had  read  with  so  much  con 
cern.  One  of  the  envelopes  was  torn  twice  across, 
as  though  he  had  intended  disposing  of  it  finally. 
The  others  were  intact. 

She  gathered  them  all  together  and  thrust  them 
back  into  the  table;  then  ran  her  fingers  along  the 
underside  of  the  lid  until  she  found  a  tiny  catch. 
Noting  the  position  of  this,  she  drew  the  top  into 
place,  satisfied  herself  that  the  spring  had  caught, 
and  rose  just  as  Jerry  came  back. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SHADOWS 

NAN  lay  on  her  bed,  fully  dressed,  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  of  the  funeral,  listening  to  the  sounds  of 
the  street  with  an  uncomfortable  sense  of  strange 
ness  and  isolation.  The  faint  tinkle  of  the  bell 
roused  her  and  the  maid  came  up  bearing  Eaton's 
card.  She  had  told  the  girl  to  excuse  her  to  callers, 
but  Eaton  sent  word  that  he  wished  particularly 
to  see  her.  She  appeared  before  him  startlingly 
wan  and  white  in  her  black  gown. 

"  I  knew  you  wanted  to  be  alone,  Nan,  but  there 's 
a  matter  I  must  speak  to  you  about,  and  I  thought 
it  best  to  do  it  at  once.  I  shan't  bother  you  long. 
I  left  a  dinner  at  the  Lawyers'  Club  to  run  up  for 
a  minute;  in  about  an  hour  I  shall  be  making  a 
speech;  so  you  need  n't  prepare  for  a  long  visit!" 

"I'm  glad  you  came.  It's  much  harder  than  I 
thought  it  would  be.  I  'm  sorry  I  did  n't  keep  Mrs. 
Copeland  or  one  of  the  girls  with  me." 

"Of  course,  you're  bound  to  feel  it.  It  came  as 
a  great  shock  to  all  of  us.  A  man  like  your  father 
can't  pass  out  of  the  world  without  being  missed 
—  very  deeply  missed.  He  was  a  real  person;  a 
vivid  personality.  It  has  done  me  good  to  hear  the 
fine  things  said  of  him ;  the  crowd  here  at  the  serv- 

243 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

ices  showed   that  he  had  been  held   in  very  deep 
affection  by  all  sorts  of  people." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  tears  had 
come  into  her  eyes  and  he  waited  for  her  to  control 
herself. 

"I  should  n't  be  troubling  you  if  I  had  n't  felt 
that  my  business  —  if  it  can  be  called  business  — 
was  urgent.   I  'm  taking  the  liberty  of  an  old  friend 

—  of  yours  and  of  Mr.  Farley's." 

"Oh,  there  can't  be  any  question  of  liberty! "  she 
protested.  "  You  're  always  so  thoughtful,  so  kind !  " 

"My  purpose  is  in  no  sense  professional,"  he 
continued.  "Mr.  Thurston  was  Mr.  Farley's  law 
yer  and  he  will  no  doubt  confer  with  you  at  once  on 
business  matters.  He's  an  excellent  man;  wholly 
trustworthy.  No  one  stands  higher  at  our  bar." 

' '  Yes ;  I  know  papa  had  every  confidence  in  him, " 
Nan  replied,  wondering  what  Eaton,  who  looked 
very  distinguished  in  his  evening  clothes,  could 
have  to  say  to  her. 

"  It's  in  relation  to  that  little  difficulty  —  an  un 
fortunate  but  wholly  pardonable  mistake  you  made 

—  you  see  I  speak  frankly  —  in  reference  to  a  man 
named  Harlowe,  a  lawyer  from  the  south  part  of 
the  State,  in  regard  to  a  demand  he  made  on  you 
some  time  ago.    Mr.  Farley  explained  about  it  - 
all  that  he  knew." 

Nan  clenched  her  hands  tightly  and  drew  a  deep 
breath.  It  was  inconceivable  that  that  specter  could 
reappear  to  trouble  her. 

244 


SHADOWS 

"Yes,"  she  whispered  faintly;  "I  remember.  I 
was  so  grateful  to  you  for  your  help  that  night. 
I  don't  know  what  would  have  happened  if  you 
had  n't  come  just  then.  Papa  was  very  bitter 
about  what  I  did,  and  of  course  it  was  cowardly  of 
me;  and  very  stupid,  not  to  have  advised  with 
some  one." 

"You  did  what  seemed  perfectly  justifiable  at 
the  moment;  Mr.  Farley  saw  it  that  way  after 
ward." 

"He  never  spoke  to  me  about  it  again;  I  have 
you  to  thank  for  that." 

"No;  it  was  Mr.  Farley's  aim  to  be  just.  Now, 
about  thisHarlowe:  I  don't  want  to  alarm  you,  but 
I  have  found  it  best  to  be  prepared  for  difficulties 
even  where  there's  only  a  remote  chance  of  having 
to  confront  them.  I  merely  want  you  to  know  that 
if  that  man  turns  up  again  I  'm  ready  for  him.  I 
have,  in  fact,  accumulated  a  considerable  amount 
of  data  that  can  be  used  against  him  if  he  makes 
another  move.  He's  an  unscrupulous  blackguard, 
a  disgrace  to  the  profession." 

"But  that  case  against  my  brother  is  all  over 
now.  He  could  n't  ask  for  more  money?" 

"Not  in  that  particular  way,"  Eaton  replied 
slowly;  "but  having  succeeded  once  in  frightening 
money  out  of  you,  he  might  try  it  again.  I  suppose 
Mr.  Farley  never  told  you  what  I  discovered  — 
established  with  documentary  proof  that  I  have 
safely  put  away  in  my  office  —  that  the  Corrigan 

245 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

this  Harlowe  pretended  to  represent  was  not  in 
fact  your  brother." 

He  went  on  quickly,  ignoring  the  astonishment 
and  bewilderment  written  on  her  face. 

"That  man  was  no  more  your  brother  than  he 
is  mine  —  you  need  have  no  doubts  about  it.  Har- 
lowe's  client  went  to  the  penitentiary  —  quite 
properly,  no  doubt.  The  poor  fellow  never  knew 
how  he  had  been  used  —  never  heard  of  that  money ! 
I  take  off  my  hat  to  Brother  Harlowe  —  a  shrewd 
scoundrel.  It's  because  I  respect  his  talents  that 
I  've  taken  so  much  pains  to  look  him  up !  Possibly 
you  won't  hear  from  him  at  all;  then  again,  you 
may.  I  've  given  some  study  to  the  peculiar  moral 
nature  of  persons  like  Harlowe,  and  I  won't  deny 
that  it  would  please  me  to  have  a  chance  at  him  - 
though,  of  course,  Mr.  Thurston  would  be  quite 
as  competent  to  deal  with  the  case  as  I  am.  My 
aim  would  be  to  get  rid  of  him  quietly,  perhaps  by 
methods  that  would  n't  appeal  to  Mr.  Thurston. 
Please  listen  to  him  carefully,  if  he  should  come  to 
you.  Concede  nothing,  but  let  him  go  as  far  as  he 
will.  That's  all,  I  think.  Pardon  me  if  I  look  at 
my  watch." 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  to  warn  me,"  she  said, 
with  feeling.  "It's  horrible  to  know  there  are 
people  plotting  against  you  in  the  dark.  I  was 
ashamed  of  myself  for  yielding  as  I  did  when  that 
man  came  to  me;  I  knew  right  away  that  I  had 
made  a  mistake." 

246 


SHADOWS 

"Well,  as  our  friend  Mr.  Amidon  would  remark, 
forget  it!  forget  it!  We  all  make  mistakes.  I  wish 
I  had  never  made  a  worse  one  than  that  little  slip 
of  yours,"  he  added  kindly. 

She  had  always  been  amused  by  Eaton's  oddi 
ties,  his  mysteriousness ;  but  in  this  hour  of  dejec 
tion  his  sympathy  and  friendliness  warmed  her 
heart.  She  rose  and  stood  before  him,  her  hands 
clenched  at  her  sides,  and  demanded  passion 
ately  :  - 

"Why  am  I  always  doing  the  wrong  thing?  Why 
do  I  escape  so  often  when  I  have  every  intention  of 
doing  what  I  know  to  be  wrong?  I  suppose  if  I'd 
waited  another  day  I  should  n't  have  sneaked  my 
money  out  of  the  trust  company  and  turned  it  over 
to  that  man !  But  I  Ve  had  escapes  I  don't  under 
stand  ;  something  gets  in  the  way  and  I  don't  —  I 
can't  —  do  things  I  fully  mean  to  do!  And  I  look 
back  and  shudder.  Why  is  that  —  can  you  tell 
me?" 

He  lifted  his  arm  with  one  of  his  familiar  gestures 
and  inspected  his  cuff-links  absently. 

"You're  seeing  things  a  little  black  now,  that's 
all,  Nan.  When  you  gave  up  that  money  you  thought 
it  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  You  saw  the  mistake 
yourself  the  moment  after  it  was  done.  That 's  just 
our  human  frailty.  It's  our  frailties  that  make  life 
the  grand  fight  it  is!" 

"That's  not  very  consoling,"  she  replied,  with 
a  rueful  smile.  "  I  suppose  we  never  know  how  much 

247 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

we  count  in  other  people's  lives.  Oh,  I  don't  mean 
that  I  do  —  except  to  do  harm ;  I  was  thinking  of 
you!" 

His  eyeglasses  gleamed  as  he  bent  her  a  swift 
glance. 

"I  —  I  'd  be  very  happy  to  think  I  'd  been  of  use 
to  somebody." 

"Oh,  you  saved  me  once  from  going  clear  over 
the  brink!  You  did  n't  know  that,  did  you?"  she 
cried  earnestly. 

"I  most  certainly  did  not!" 

"If  you  don't  know,"  she  said  gravely,  "I  shall 
never  tell  you.  Are  you  really  sure  you  don't  know 
what  I'm  talking  about?" 

"My  dear  Nan,  why  do  you  ask  me  if  I  guess 
things  —  when  facts  are  the  consuming  passion  of 
my  life!  If  I  was  ever  of  the  slightest  service  to  you 
it  was  unconscious  good  fortune  on  my  part.  And 
I  hope  there  may  be  many  such  occasions!  But, 
Nan, "  -  he  waited  until  he  was  quite  sure  of  her 
attention,  —  "Nan,  we  can't  rely  too  much  on  the 
man  on  shore  in  emergencies.  He  won't  always 
reach  us  in  time.  We've  got  to  mind  the  thin  ice 
ourselves —  skate  away  as  soon  as  we  hear  it  crack 
ing!  We  can't  trust  to  chance.  Luck  supports  sound 
judgment  —  mainly.  And  we've  got  to  fight  our 
own  battles." 

"But  if  you're  a  worthless,  wobbly  person  like 
me,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  demanded. 

' '  Cease  wobbling !  Good-night ! ' ' 
248 


SHADOWS 

Eaton  had  not  been  gone  more  than  five  minutes 
when  a  light  knock  on  the  glass  panel  of  the  front 
door  startled  her.  The  clocks  through  the  house 
had  just  struck  ten  and  she  had  dismissed  the  maid 
for  the  night.  The  rap  was  repeated  more  loudly, 
and  stealing  to  the  door  she  drew  back  a  corner  of 
the  curtain  and  peered  out.  Copeland  stood  in  the 
entry,  plainly  revealed  by  the  overhead  light;  his 
hand  was  lifted  for  another  knock. 

Her  heart  throbbed  with  fear  and  anger.  Billy 
had  no  right  to  come  at  this  hour  in  this  furtive 
fashion  —  and  on  this  day,  of  all  days,  to  the  house 
of  the  man  who  had  so  cordially  hated  him.  She 
waited  a  moment  hoping  he  would  go  away,  but 
he  began  beating  upon  the  glass. 

This  clearly  would  not  do,  and  she  drew  back  the 
bolt  and  opened  the  door  a  few  inches. 

"Please  go  away!  You  have  no  right  to  come 
here  at  this  time  of  night! " 

He  seized  the  door  as  she  was  about  to  close  it 
and  forced  his  way  past  her. 

"  I  Ve  got  to  see  you  a  minute  —  just  a  minute," 
he  said  eagerly.  "It's  a  matter  of  importance  or  I 
should  n't  have  come  to-night.  I  thought  it  best 
not  to  wait.  It's  really  a  serious  matter,  Nan!" 

"You  have  no  right  to  come  at  all,"  she  replied 
angrily.  "What  if  the  neighbors  saw  you!  they 
know  I'm  alone.  You  know  this  won't  do;  please 
go,  Billy!"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  walking  toward  the  parlor, 
249 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"that  it's  all  right  for  John  Eaton  to  come  when 
he  pleases,  but  not  for  me." 

"That  was  very  different;  he  rang  the  bell  and 
the  maid  let  him  in!  And  he  came  on  a  business 
matter.  You  can't  stay,  Billy;  you  understand 
that.  You  must  go  at  once!" 

"Well,  I  came  earlier,  but  saw  Eaton's  silk  hat 
bobbing  in  and  I  've  been  hanging  around  waiting 
for  him  to  go.  I  didn't  care  to  meet  him  here;  and 
as  far  as  business  is  concerned,  maybe  mine's  just 
as  important  as  his.  You  '11  have  to  take  my  word 
for  that." 

His  manner  and  tone  were  amiable.  There  clearly 
was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  debating  the  question 
of  his  right  to  be  there,  but  she  remained  resolutely 
in  the  parlor  door,  trying  to  devise  some  means  of 
getting  rid  of  him. 

"You'll  have  to  be  quick,  then,"  she  said,  with 
out  relaxing  her  severity. 

"Yes;  I  understand  that,  Nan,"  he  agreed  read 
ily.  "It's  about  the  property  —  no  —  don't  stop 
me!"  he  exclaimed  as  she  cried  out  impatiently. 
"You  have  certain  rights  and  it's  the  business  of 
your  friends  to  see  that  you  get  them.  Another 
day  and  it  will  be  too  late." 

"I'm  to  see  Mr.  Thurston  to-morrow;  every 
thing's  in  his  hands;  you  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it!" 

He  took  a  step  toward  her  and  his  voice  sank 
to  a  whisper. 

250 


SHADOWS 

"That's  just  it!  Everything  is  not  in  his  hands. 
That's  what  I  want  to  tell  you." 

She  stared  at  him  blankly.  His  excited  manner 
aroused  her  curiosity  as  to  what  he  might  have  to 
say,  but  it  was  unlikely  that  he  knew  anything  of 
importance  about  Farley's  affairs. 

"They're  saying  downtown  that  Farley  was  a 
crank  about  will-making;  he  made  a  lot  of  wills  and 
kept  them  hid.  Thurston's  let  that  out  himself.  If 
you  know  this,  we  can  drop  that  part  of  it." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  her  silence  encouraged 
him  to  go  on. 

"The  fact  is,  as  we  all  know,"  he  began  ingratiat 
ingly,  "that  Farley  was  n't  himself  at  all  times.  He 
probably  made  wills  that  he  destroyed  —  or  meant 
to  destroy.  It's  wholly  possible  that  he  vented  his 
wrath  on  you  at  times  by  cutting  down  what  he 
meant  to  give  you,  and  the  next  day  he'd  be  sorry 
for  it.  That  would  be  like  him.  In  old  times  at  the 
store  he  used  to  blow  up  with  fury  one  minute  and 
be  as  tame  as  a  lamb  the  next.  But  there's  no 
reason  —  there's  not  the  slightest  reason  why 
you  should  surfer  if  he  died  leaving  a  will  lying 
around  that  might  rob  you  of  your  just  inheritance 
-  that  did  n't  really  express  his  normal  attitude 
toward  you.  He  never  meant  to  be  mean  to  you; 
I  'm  satisfied  of  that;  but  if  there  are  some  of  those 
wills  here  in  the  house  —  you  would  have  a  right, 
considering  his  condition  and  all  that  —  you  would 
have  a  right  —  you  see  - 

251 


THE   PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

He  had  been  watching  her  narrowly  for  some 
sign  of  interest  or  encouragement,  but  finding 
neither  he  broke  off  without  saying  just  what  it 
might  be  right  for  her  to  do.  However,  while  he 
waited  a  quick  flutter  of  her  lids  indicated  that  she 
comprehended.  Their  eyes  met  in  a  long  gaze.  Her 
face  grew  white  and  her  lips  opened  several  times 
before  any  sound  came  from  them.  He  had  drawn 
closer,  but  he  stepped  back  as  he  saw  horror  and 
repugnance  clearly  written  in  her  face. 

"You  have  no  right  to  talk  to  me  like  this!  It's 
too  shameful,  too  terrible!"  she  gasped. 

"  Please,  Nan,  don't  take  it  that  way,"  he  begged. 

' '  How  else  can  I  take  it !  To  think  that  you  should 
believe  me  capable  of  that,  Billy!" 

"  If  I  had  n't  known  that  he  had  treated  you  like 
a  brute  and  that  he  always  carried  his  vindictiveness 
to  the  limit,  I  should  n't  be  here.  I  don't  want  to 
see  you  cut  off  with  little  or  nothing  when  the  whole 
estate  ought  to  be  yours  —  will  be  yours  if  you  don't 
make  a  fool  of  yourself!  He  had  no  right  to  bring 
you  up  as  his  daughter  and  then  leave  you  with 
nothing.  Thurston  is  n't  going  to  protect  your 
interests;  he  merely  did  from  time  to  time  what 
Farley  told  him  to  do,  and  you  won't  get  any  help 
out  of  him.  If  there  are  different  wills  hidden 
about  —  you  may  know  where  he  hid  them  —  " 

He  threw  out  his  arms  with  a  gesture  meant  to 
demonstrate  the  ease  with  which  matters  might 
be  taken  into  her  own  hands.  In  the  sobering  hours 

252 


SHADOWS 

that  had  followed  Farley's  death  only  his  great 
kindness  and  generosity  had  been  in  her  thoughts. 
The  enormity  of  what  Copeland  proposed  grew 
upon  her.  She  bestirred  herself  suddenly.  She 
must  not  let  him  think  that  she  was  tolerating  his 
suggestion  for  an  instant. 

"I'm  sorry  you  thought  that  kind  of  thing 
would  appeal  to  me!  That's  your  idea  of  me, 
is  it?" 

"I'm  appealing  to  your  good  sense,  Nan;  in  a 
few  hours  it  will  be  too  late,  and  if  you  know  where 
he  kept  his  papers,  you  can  easily  look  them  over 
and  satisfy  yourself  as  to  just  what  he  meant  to  do; 
and  then  you  can  do  as  you  like.  His  last  will 
would  stand;  maybe  you  don't  know  that;  and  if 
it's  in  the  house,  why  should  n't  you,  at  least,  have 
a  look  at  it?" 

"I  wouldn't — I  couldn't  do  such  a  thing!" 
she  cried. 

"If  there  should  n't  be  any  will  at  all,"  he  re 
sumed,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  intently,  "then 
you  would  inherit  everything !  The  adoption  made 
you  his  child  in  law;  there  would  n't  be  any  way 
of  escaping  that.  It's  these  wills  that  you've  got 
to  fear  —  the  whims,  the  sudden  vindictive  anger 
of  an  old  man  who  really  meant  to  do  the  right 
thing  by  you.  Neither  he  nor  his  wife  had  any  near 
kin;  there  would  be  nobody  to  share  with  you  in 
case  there  proves  to  be  no  will  at  all ! " 

"You  make  it  perfectly  plain  what  it  would  be 

253 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

possible  forme  to  do!"  she  replied  with  quivering 
lips.  "  That  seems  to  be  all  you  have  to  say — and 
it's  enough!  I  want  you  to  leave  this  house,  and 
be  quick  about  it!" 

"But,  Nan,  you  are  taking  this  all  wrong!  It's 
not  as  though  you  were  robbing  other  people:  you 
certainly  have  a  better  right  to  the  money  than 
anybody  else.  Suppose  that  in  one  of  his  mental 
lapses  he  had  willed  the  greater  part  of  his  fortune 
to  some  silly  charity ;  all  the  rest  of  your  days  you  'd 
be  sorry  you  had  n't  done  what  you  could  to  protect 
yourself." 

"Please  go,"  she  urged  in  a  plaintive  whisper, 
"so  I  can  forget  that  you've  been  here!" 

"Of  course  I'll  go,"  he  assented.  "If  I  had  n't 
felt  that  you  looked  to  me  at  least  as  a  friend,  I 
should  n't  have  come.  And  if  there 's  anything  to  be 
done  it  must  be  done  quickly  —  that 's  as  plain  as 
daylight." 

He  advanced  this  in  a  crisp,  businesslike  tone, 
as  though  there  were  nothing  remarkable  in  his 
suggestions.  She  was  already  wondering,  as  he 
meant  she  should,  whether,  after  all,  there  was 
anything  so  enormous  in  the  idea.  Fear  stole  into 
her  heart;  it  would  be  unsafe  to  listen  to  anything 
further  lest  he  persuade  her  of  the  justice  of  his 
plan.  But  he  dropped  the  matter  instantly,  wisely 
calculating  that  he  had  said  enough. 

"You  know,  Nan,  that  nobody  is  as  interested 
in  your  happiness  as  I  am.  If  I  did  n't  care  so  much 

254 


SHADOWS 

-  if  I  did  n't  hope  that  you  cared,  I  should  n't 
have  come  here  to-night;  I  should  n't  have  dared!" 

She  made  no  response,  but  stared  at  him  with 
widely  distended  eyes.  Her  silence  made  him  un 
easy.  Her  black  gown  had  strangely  transformed 
her.  She  was  not  the  Nan  who  had  promised  to 
marry  him  —  who  would  now,  but  for  his  folly,  be 
his  wife.  He  walked  to  the  door  and  then  said  in  the 
low  tone  he  had  employed  from  the  beginning,  - 

"There  are  other  things  I  want  to  speak  of,  but 
I  know  this  is  not  the  time.  I  shall  hope  to  see 
you  again  soon,  and  please  try  to  think  better  of 
me,  Nan!" 

She  remained  where  she  had  stood  throughout 
the  interview  until  she  heard  the  iron  gate  click 
behind  him. 

She  put  out  the  lights  and  climbed  the  stairs 
slowly.  The  loneliness  that  had  stifled  her  before 
Eaton's  appearance  had  deepened.  She  passed 
through  the  silent  upper  hall  and  locked  herself 
in  her  room,  resolved  not  to  leave  it  until  the  world 
woke  to  life  again. 

' '  No !  No !  No ! ' '  she  moaned  aloud  to  fortify  her 
resolution.  .  .  . 

At  one  o'clock  she  was  still  awake,  questioning, 
debating  with  herself,  while  strange  shadow-shapes 
danced  in  the  surrounding  blackness. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

NAN   AGAINST    NAN 

WAS  Billy  right,  after  all? 

The  question  haunted  her  insistently.  She  lighted 
the  lamp  by  her  bed  and  tried  to  read,  but  the  words 
were  a  confused  jumble.  She  threw  down  her  book 
impatiently.  If  only  she  had  kept  Fanny  Copeland 
in  the  house  or  had  given  the  papers  hidden  away 
in  the  old  table  to  Eaton  to  carry  away,  she  would 
have  escaped  this  struggle. 

Her  thoughts  were  fixed  upon  Eaton  for  a  time. 
He  had  enjoined  her  to  take  a  firmer  hold  of  her 
self.  She  readily  imagined  what  his  abhorrence 
would  be  of  the  evil  thing  Copeland  had  pro 
posed.  .  .  . 

But,  after  all,  Farley  had  meant  to  treat  her 
generously,  as  Copeland  had  said,  and  if  in  some 
angry  mood  he  had  rewritten  his  will  to  reduce 
his  provision  for  her,  there  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  n't  seize  an  opportunity  to  right  a  wrong  he 
never  really  intended.  .  .  . 

She  rose,  drew  on  her  kimono,  snapped  on  all 
the  lights  and  found  that  it  was  only  half  past  one. 
She  assured  herself  that  she  would  not  open  the 
door  of  Farley's  room;  and  yet,  the  thought  kept 
recurring  that  no  one  would  ever  know  if  she  read 

256 


NAN  AGAINST  NAN 

those  wills  and  destroyed  them.  The  fear  that  she 
might  yield  chilled  her.  She  became  frantic  for 
something  to  do  and  set  herself  the  task  of  putting 
the  drawers  of  her  desk  in  order.  Some  letters  that 
Mrs.  Farley  had  written  her  while  she  was  at  board 
ing-school  caught  her  eye. 

Yes,  the  Parleys  had  been  kind,  even  foolishly 
indulgent.  She  read  in  her  foster-mother's  even, 
old-fashioned  hand:  — 

Don't  worry  about  your  money,  dear.  I  suppose 
when  you  go  into  town  you  see  a  lot  of  little  things 
that  it's  nice  for  a  girl  to  have.  We  want  you  to 
appear  well  before  the  other  girls.  I  'm  slipping  a 
twenty-dollar  bill  into  this  letter  just  for  odds  and 
ends.  Don't  say  anything  to  papa  about  it,  as  I 
would  rather  he  did  n't  know  I  send  you  money. 

A  little  later  she  turned  up  a  letter  of  Farley's 
in  which  he  had  enclosed  a  fifty-dollar  bill  as  an 
addition  to  her  regular  allowance.  In  a  character 
istic  postscript  he  enjoined  her  not  "  to  tell  mamma. 
She  thinks  you  have  enough  money  and  it  might 
make  her  jealous!" 

She  closed  the  drawer,  leaving  it  in  worse  con 
fusion  than  before.  Comforts  and  luxuries  were 
dear  to  her.  She  had  enjoyed  hugely  her  years 
at  boarding-school.  To  be  set  adrift  with  a  small 
income  while  the  greater  part  of  Farley's  money 
went  to  philanthropy  —  maybe  Billy  was  right, 
after  all !  ... 

257 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Two  o'clock.  She  was  in  Farley's  room,  crouched 
in  a  low  rocker  with  her  arms  flung  across  the  table 
in  which  the  papers  were  hidden.  Her  heart  beat 
furiously,  and  her  breath  came  in  quick  gasps.  She 
had  decided  now  to  read  the  wills ;  it  would  do  no 
harm  to  have  a  look  at  them.  If  everything  was 
to  be  taken  away  from  her,  she  might  as  well  know 
the  worst  and  prepare  for  it. 

Her  fingers  sought  the  catch  that  released  the 
spring;  the  top  turned  easily.  The  papers  lay  as 
she  had  left  them  the  night  Farley  died.  She  folded 
the  open  ones  and  thrust  them  into  their  envelopes. 
She  counted  them  deliberately;  there  were  six, 
including  the  one  that  had  fallen  from  the  dressing- 
gown,  which  she  identified  by  the  crosses  on  the 
envelope.  .  .  . 

If  there  should  be  no  will,  Copeland  had  said, 
all  the  property  would  go  to  her  as  the  only  heir. 
There  was  a  grate  in  the  room  with  the  fuel  all 
ready  for  lighting.  It  would  be  a  simple  matter  to 
destroy  all  the  wills.  She  could  explain  the  burnt- 
out  fire  to  the  maid  by  saying  that  the  house  had 
grown  cold  in  the  night  and  that  she  had  gone  into 
Farley's  room  to  warm  herself.  She  was  surprised 
to  find  how  readily  explanations  covering  every 
point  occurred  to  her.  The  very  ease  with  which 
she  thought  of  them  appalled  her.  No  doubt  it  was 
in  this  fashion  that  hardened  criminals  planned 
their  defense.  .  .  . 

She  struck  a  match  and  touched  it  to  the  paper 
258 


NAN   AGAINST  NAN 

under  the  kindling.  The  fire  blazed  brightly.  She 
was  really  chilled  and  the  warmth  was  grateful. 
As  she  held  her  hands  to  the  flames  she  surveyed 
the  trifles  on  the  mantel  and  her  gaze  wandered 
to  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Farley  which  had  been  done 
from  photographs  by  a  local  artist  after  her  death. 
The  memory  of  her  foster-mother's  simple  kindli 
ness  and  gentleness  gave  her  a  pang.  She  turned 
slowly  until  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  bed  in  which 
Farley  had  suffered  so  long.  She  went  back  to  the 
beginning  and  argued  the  whole  matter  over  again. 

As  at  other  times,  in  moods  of  depression,  she 
thought  of  the  squalor  of  her  childhood;  of  her 
father,  Dan  Corrigan,  trapper,  fisherman,  loafer, 
brutal  drunkard.  She  gazed  at  her  white,  slim  fin 
gers  and  recalled  her  mother's  swollen,  red  hands 
as  she  had  bent  for  hours  every  day  over  the  wash- 
tub.  Her  mother  had  been  at  least  an  honest  woman, 
who  had  addressed  herself  uncomplainingly  to  the 
business  of  maintaining  a  home  for  her  children. 

All  that  the  Farleys  had  done  in  changing  her 
environment  to  one  of  comfort  and  decency  and 
educating  her  in  a  fashionable  school  with  the  daugh 
ters  of  gentlefolk  had  not  affected  the  blood  in  her. 
She  had  not  been  worthy  of  their  pity,  their  gener 
osity,  their  confidence.  Yet  it  had  meant  much  to 
these  people  in  their  childlessness  to  take  her  into 
their  hearts  and  give  her  their  name.  Farley's  ideas 
of  honor  had  been  the  strictest;  the  newspapers 
in  their  accounts  of  his  career  had  laid  stress  on  this. 

259 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE  PUDDING 

And  how  he  would  hate  an  act  such  as  she  medi 
tated,  that  would  prove  her  low  origin,  stamp  her 
as  the  daughter  of  a  degenerate!  .  .  . 

Still,  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  n't 
read  the  wills.  She  returned  to  the  table,  drew  one 
of  them  out,  played  with  it  for  a  moment  uncer 
tainly,  then  thrust  it  back. 

It  was  Nan  against  Nan  through  the  dark  watches 
of  the  night.  If  she  yielded  now  she  would  never 
tread  firm  ground  again.  Once  this  trial  was  over, 
she  would  be  a  different  woman  —  better  or 
worse;  and  she  must  reach  a  decision  unaided.  She 
buried  her  face  in  her  arms  to  shut  out  the  light 
and  wept  bitterly  in  despair  of  her  weakness.  .  .  . 

Four  o'clock.  A  sparrow  cheeped  sleepily  in  the 
vines  on  the  wall  outside  the  window.  Farley  had 
liked  the  sparrows  and  refused  to  have  them  mo 
lested.  They  were  "company,"  he  said,  and  he 
used  to  keep  crumbs  of  bread  and  cake  for  them.  . . . 

She  lifted  her  head,  and  confidence  stole  into  her 
heart.  She  had  not  done  the  evil  thing;  she  had 
not  even  looked  at  the  sheets  of  paper  that  recorded 
Farley's  wavering,  shifting  faith  in  her. 

"Why  don't  you  do  it?  You  are  a  coward;  you 
are  afraid!" 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  as  she  kept  repeating 
these  taunts.  Then  she  was  silent  for  a  time,  sit 
ting  with  arms  folded,  her  eyes  bent  unseeingly 
upon  the  envelopes  before  her.  There  could  be  no 
happiness  in  store  for  her  if  she  yielded.  She  saw 

260 


NAN  AGAINST  NAN 

herself  carrying  through  life  the  memory  of  a  law 
less  act  dictated  by  selfishness  and  greed.  Sud 
denly  she  rose  and  walked  to  the  bed ;  and  her  voice 
rang  out  with  a  note  of  triumph,  there  in  the  room 
where  Farley  had  died :  — 

"  I  have  not  done  it;  I  will  not  do  it!" 

The  sound  of  her  voice  alarmed  her,  and  she 
glanced  nervously  over  her  shoulder.  Then  she 
laughed,  struck  by  the  thought  that  if  Farley's 
spirit  lurked  there  expecting  to  see  her  yield,  it 
was  a  disappointed  ghost! 

"You  silly  little  fool,"  he  had  often  said  to  her 
in  his  anger.  Well,  she  was  not  so  wicked  as  he 
had  believed ;  but  she  thought  of  him  now  without 
bitterness. 

Wings  fluttered ;  the  sparrows  began  a  persistent 
twitter. 

Light  was  creeping  in  under  the  shades.  She  re 
turned  to  the  table,  stared  at  it,  frowning,  drew 
away  quickly,  ran  to  the  door,  and  glanced  back 
breathlessly.  She  walked  back  slowly,  turned  the 
papers  over,  peered  into  the  drawer  to  make  sure 
that  she  had  overlooked  nothing. 

She  took  up  the  wills  that  recorded  Timothy  Far 
ley's  doubts  and  uncertainties  and  wavering  gener 
osities,  dropped  them  into  the  little  well  in  the  table 
and  drew  the  top  into  place. 

A  feeling  of  exaltation  possessed  her  as  she  heard 
the  click  of  the  spring.  This,  perhaps,  was  the  re 
ward  of  righteousness.  "We're  all  happier,"  the 

261 


THE  PROOF  OF   THE  PUDDING 

simple-hearted  Mrs.  Farley  used  to  say,  "when 
we're  good!" 

She  stood  very  still  for  a  minute,  stifling  her  last 
regret.  Then  she  turned  to  the  window  and  opened 
it,  unfastened  the  shutters,  and  thrust  her  hands 
out  into  the  gray  light.  A  farmer's  wagon,  bound 
for  market,  passed  slowly  by,  the  driver  asleep  with 
a  lighted  lantern  on  the  seat  beside  him. 

She  remained  there  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  lis 
tening  to  the  first  tentative  sounds  of  the  new  day. 
The  newspaper  carrier  threw  the  morning  paper 
against  the  door  beneath  the  window,  unconscious 
that  she  saw  him.  She  closed  the  window,  crept 
back  to  her  room  and  threw  herself  exhausted  on 
her  bed.  .  .  . 

Outside  Farley's  windows  the  sparrows  chir 
ruped  impatiently  for  crumbs  from  the  hand  that 
would  feed  them  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

NOT  ACCORDING   TO  LAW 

NAN  was  reading  the  newspaper  report  of  Eaton's 
speech  over  her  coffee  when  at  nine  o'clock  he  called 
her  on  the  telephone. 

"Your  speech  sounds  fine,  though  I  don't  under 
stand  all  the  jokes,"  she  said.  "But  I'm  sure  you 
made  a  hit." 

"Not  so  sure  of  it  myself,  Nan.  But  please  listen 
to  me  carefully.  Our  friend  from  the  southern  part 
of  the  State  is  here.  I  have  him  marked  at  his  hotel. 
He  has  probably  come  to  see  you.  Let  him  say  all 
he  has  on  his  mind,  then  report  to  me.  You  will 
probably  hear  from  Thurston,  too,  during  the  day. 
He's  trying  a  case  this  morning.  But  our  brother 
from  the  South  comes  first.  Don't  let  him  frighten 
you;  just  listen  and  encourage  him  if  necessary  to 
show  what  he's  up  to  this  time." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied,  though  the  thought  of 
facing  Harlowe  alone  filled  her  with  misgivings. 

Mrs.  Copeland  was  on  the  wire  immediately 
afterward,  to  ask  if  she  could  be  of  any  service. 
Then  Thurston's  clerk  called  her  to  make  an  ap 
pointment  for  three  o'clock. 

The  night's  vigil  had  left  its  marks  upon  her. 
She  was  nervously  alert  for  the  day's  developments, 

263 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

but  nothing  could  be  worse  than  the  long  struggle 
against  temptation.  She  had,  she  fancied,  consid 
ered  every  possibility  as  to  the  future  and  she  was 
prepared  for  anything  that  might  befall  her.  She 
was  happy  in  the  thought  that  she  faced  the  world 
with  a  clean  conscience;  never  in  her  life  had  she 
been  on  so  good  terms  with  herself. 

She  was  standing  at  the  parlor  window  when  at 
eleven  a  familiar  figure  entered  the  gate.  Harlowe, 
tall,  slightly  stooped,  advanced  to  the  door.  She 
called  to  the  maid  not  to  trouble  to  answer  the  ring 
and  let  the  man  in  herself. 

He  began  with  formal  condolences  on  what  he 
called  "her  irreparable  loss." 

"Much  as  we  may  be  prepared  for  the  death  of 
a  loved  one,  it  always  comes  with  a  shock.  I  sym 
pathize  with  you  very  deeply,  Miss  Farley." 

She  murmured  her  thanks  and  bade  him  be  seated. 
She  wished  she  had  asked  Eaton  to  be  present  at 
the  interview,  which  he  had  forecast  with  a  pre 
science  that  justified  all  her  faith  in  his  unusual 
powers. 

"I  came  as  quickly  as  possible  after  hearing  of 
Mr.  Farley's  death,  in  the  hope  of  being  of  some 
service  to  you  —  of  avoiding  any  difficulties  that 
might  possibly  arise  with  reference  to  the  settle 
ment  of  Mr.  Farley's  affairs." 

She  nodded,  and  remembering  Eaton's  injunc 
tion,  gave  him  strict  attention. 

"  I  hope,"  he  went  on,  "that  my  handling  of  the 
264 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  LAW 

very  distressing  and  delicate  matter  that  brought 
me  here  last  June  won  your  confidence  to  such  an 
extent — " 

He  paused,  watching  her  narrowly  for  any  sign 
of  dissent. 

"I  appreciated  that,  Mr.  Harlowe;  it  was  very 
considerate  of  you  to  come  to  me  as  you  did." 

"I  didn't  report  on  that  case  further,  feeling 
that  it  might  embarrass  you,  assuming  that  the 
whole  matter  was  strictly  between  ourselves." 

"Quite  so,"  she  agreed. 

"  I  was  distressed  that  after  all  our  interest,  and 
your  own  generosity,  we  could  not  save  your  un 
fortunate  brother.  Still,  it's  something  that  we  were 
able  to  secure  what  was  a  light  sentence  —  taking 
everything  into  consideration.  Only  circumstantial 
evidence,  to  be  sure,  but  it  pointed  very  strongly 
to  his  guilt.  You  doubtless  read  the  result  in  the 
papers?" 

"Yes,  I  followed  the  case,"  she  answered.  "And 
I  'm  sure  you  did  the  best  you  could." 

His  solemnity  would  have  been  amusing  at  any 
other  time.  He  clearly  had  no  idea  that  she  had 
learned  of  his  duplicity  in  taking  money  from  her 
for  the  defense  of  a  Corrigan  who  was  in  no  manner 
related  to  her. 

"  I  assume,"  he  said,  "that  no  steps  have  yet 
been  taken  to  offer  for  probate  any  will  Mr.  Farley 
may  have  left.  I  had  hoped  to  see  you  first;  this 
accounts  for  my  visit  to-day.  I  thought  it  best 

265 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

to  see  you  before  going  to  Mr.  Thurston.  Mr. 
Joseph  C.  Thurston  was,  I  believe,  Mr.  Farley's 
attorney?" 

"Yes.  He  was  one  of  papa's  best  friends  and  he 
had  charge  of  his  affairs  as  far  back  as  I  can  re 
member." 

"An  excellent  man.  There's  no  better  lawyer 
in  the  State,"  Harlowe  responded  heartily.  "But 
I  occasionally  find  it  best  to  deal  directly  with  a 
client.  We  lawyers,  you  know,  are  sometimes  un 
wisely  obstinate,  and  lead  our  clients  into  unneces 
sary  trouble.  As  you  are  the  person  chiefly  con 
cerned  in  this  matter,  I  came  directly  to  you.  I  did 
this  because  in  that  former  matter  you  were  so 
quick  to  see  the  justice  of  my  —  er  —  request." 

Her  amazement  at  his  effrontery  almost  equalled 
her  curiosity  as  to  what  lay  behind  his  deliberate 
approaches. 

"It  is  generally  known  that  Mr.  Farley  was  a 
man  of  violent  temper,"  he  went  on.  "Some  of  his 
old  friends  on  the  river  remember  him  well,  and 
you  may  never  have  known  —  and  I  am  sorry 
to  be  obliged  to  mention  so  unpleasant  a  fact  — 
that  his  mother  died  insane.  That  is  a  matter  of 
record,  of  course.  The  malady  from  which  Mr.  Far 
ley  suffered  for  many  years  is  one  that  frequently 
affects  the  mind.  No  doubt  living  with  him  here,  as 
you  did,  you  noticed  at  times  that  he  behaved 
oddly  —  did  n't  conduct  himself  quite  normally?" 

Remembering  Eaton's  instructions  she  acqui- 
266 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  LAW 

esced  without  offering  any  comment.  His  designs, 
she  now  assumed,  were  not  personal  to  herself, 
but  directed  against  Farley's  estate. 

"  I  represent  two  cousins  of  Mr.  Farley's  who  live 
in  my  county.  Very  worthy  men  they  are;  you  may 
have  heard  Mr.  Farley  speak  of  them." 

"Yes;  I  knew  about  them.  I  sent  them  telegrams 
advising  them  of  his  death." 

"That  was  very  thoughtful  on  your  part,  Miss 
Farley,  and  they  appreciate  it.  But  by  reason  of 
their  poverty  they  were  unable  to  attend  the  funeral. 
They  asked  me  to  thank  you  for  thinking  of  them. 
Several  times  during  the  past  twenty  years  Mr. 
Farley  had  advanced  them  small  sums  of  money  — 
an  indication  of  his  kindly  feeling  toward  them." 

" I  did  n't  know  of  that;  but  it  was  like  papa." 

"  In  case  Mr.  Farley  left  a  will,  it  is  my  duty  to 
inform  you,  that  you  may  have  time  for  reflection 
before  taking  up  the  matter  with  Mr.  Thurston,  that 
we  are  prepared  to  attack  it  on  the  ground  of  Mr. 
Farley's  mental  unsoundness.  I  assume,  of  course, 
that  Mr.  Farley  made  a  handsome  provision  for 
you,  but  quite  possibly  he  overlooked  the  natural 
expectations  of  his  own  kinsfolk." 

She  merely  nodded,  thinking  it  unnecessary  to 
impart  information  while  he  continued  to  show  his 
hand  so  openly. 

"You  have  probably  understood,  Miss  Farley, 
that  in  case  your  foster-father  died  intestate,  that 
is  to  say,  without  leaving  a  will  in  proper  form, 

267 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

you  would,  as  his  heir,  be  entitled  to  the  whole 
of  his  property." 

"Yes;  I  think  I  have  heard  that,"  she  answered 
uneasily. 

The  cold-blooded  fashion  in  which  he  had  stated 
his  purpose  to  contest  the  will  on  the  ground  of 
Farley's  insanity  had  shocked  her.  Copeland  had 
suggested  the  same  thing,  but  it  was  a  preposterous 
pretension  that  Timothy  Farley's  mind  had  been 
affected  by  his  long  illness.  Even  the  assertion  that 
his  mother  had  been  a  victim  of  mental  disorder, 
plausibly  as  he  had  stated  it,  would  hardly  stand 
against  the  fact  that  Farley's  faculties  to  the  very 
end  had  been  unusually  clear  and  alert. 

"In  case  there  should  be  no  will,"  Harlowe  con 
tinued,  "your  rights  would  rest,  of  course,  upon 
your  adoption.  It  would  .have  to  be  proved  that 
it  was  done  in  accordance  with  law.  The  statutes 
are  specific  as  to  the  requirements.  I  'm  sorry,  very 
sorry  indeed,  my  dear  Miss  Farley,  that  in  your  case 
the  law  was  not  strictly  complied  with." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean;  I  don't  under 
stand  you!"  she  faltered. 

"Please  don't  be  alarmed,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
reassuring  smile.  "I'm  sure  that  everything  can 
be  arranged  satisfactorily ;  I  am  not  here  to  threaten 
you  —  please  remember  that ;  I  merely  want  you 
to  understand  my  case." 

"But  my  father  never  dreamed  of  anything  of 
that  kind,"  she  gasped;  "it's  impossible — why,  he 

268 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  LAW 

would  never  have  made  a  mistake  in  so  serious  a 
matter." 

"Unfortunately,  we  are  all  liable  to  err,  Miss 
Farley,"  he  answered,  with  a  grotesque  affectation 
of  benevolence.  "And  I  regret  to  say  that  in  this 
case  the  error  is  undeniable.  What  Mr.  Farley's  in 
tentions  were  is  one  thing ;  what  was  actually  done 
to  make  you  his  child  in  law  is  another.  We  need 
not  go  into  that.  It  is  a  legal  question  that  Mr. 
Thurston  will  understand  readily;  the  more  so, 
perhaps,"  he  added  with  faint  irony,  "because  he 
was  not  himself  guilty  of  the  error,  not  being  Mr. 
Farley's  attorney  at  the  time  the  adoption  was 
attempted." 

The  room  swayed  and  she  grasped  the  arms  of 
her  chair  to  steady  herself.  The  man's  story  was 
plausible,  and  he  spoke  with  an  easy  confidence. 
All  Farley's  deliberation  about  the  disposal  of  his 
property  would  go  for  naught ;  her  victory  over  the 
temptation  to  destroy  his  wills  had  been  futile! 

"Please  don't  misunderstand  me,  Miss  Farley," 
the  man  was  saying.  "  My  clients  have  no  wish  to 
deprive  you  wholly  of  participation  in  the  estate. 
And  we  should  deplore  litigation.  In  coming  to 
you  now,  I  merely  wish  to  prepare  you,  so  that  you 
may  consider  the  case  in  all  its  aspects  before  taking 
it  up  with  your  lawyer.  No  doubt  a  satisfactory 
settlement  can  be  arranged,  without  going  into 
court.  I  believe  that  is  all.  Henceforth  I  can't  with 
propriety  deal  directly  with  you,  but  must  meet 

269 


THE  PROOF,  OF  THE  PUDDING 

your  counsel.  I  assume,  however,  that  he  will  not 
wholly  ignore  your  natural  wish  to  —  er  —  arrange 
a  settlement  satisfactory  to  all  parties."  .  .  . 

The  door  had  hardly  closed  upon  him  before  she 
was  at  the  telephone  calling  Eaton,  and  in  half  an 
hour  he  was  at  the  house.  Harlowe's  words  had  so 
bitten  into  her  memory  that  she  was  able  to  repeat 
them  almost  verbatim.  Eaton  listened  with  his  usual 
composure.  It  might  have  seemed  from  his  manner 
that  he  was  more  interested  in  Nan  herself  than  in 
her  recital.  She  betrayed  no  excitement,  but  de 
scribed  the  interview  colorlessly  as  though  speaking 
of  matters  that  did  not  wholly  concern  her.  When 
she  concluded  Eaton  chuckled  softly. 

"You're  taking  it  nobly,"  were  his  first  words; 
"I'm  proud  of  you!  You  see,  I  had  expected 
something  of  the  sort  —  prepared  for  it,  in  fact, 
right  after  this  fellow  got  that  thousand  dollars  out 
of  you.  He's  crafty,  shrewd,  unscrupulous.  But 
you  have  nothing  to  worry  over.  He  came  to  you 
first  and  at  the  earliest  possible  moment  in  the  hope 
of  frightening  you  as  he  did  before,  hoping  that 
you  'd  persuade  Thurston  to  settle  with  him.  As 
for  Farley's  incompetence  to  make  a  will,  that's 
all  rubbish!  His  mother  suffered  from  senile  de 
mentia  —  no  symptoms  until  she  was  nearly  ninety. 
Every  business  man  in  town  would  laugh  at  the 
idea  that  Tim  Farley  was  n't  sane.  He  was  just  a 
little  bit  saner  than  most  men.  His  occasional  fits 
of  anger  were  only  the  expression  of  his  vigorous 

270 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  LAW 

personality;  wholly  characteristic;  nothing  in  that 
for  Harlowe  to  hang  a  case  on. 

"But  this  point  about  the  adoption  is  more  seri 
ous.  When  I  was  down  there  watching  Harlowe 
defend  the  man  he  pretended  to  you  —  but  to  no 
body  else  —  was  your  brother,  I  looked  up  those 
adoption  proceedings,  out  of  sheer  vulgar  curiosity. 
The  law  provides  that  adoption  proceedings  shall  be 
brought  in  the  county  where  the  child  resides,  and 
that  the  parents  appear  in  court  and  consent. 
Your  parents  were  dead,  and  Mr.  Farley's  petition 
was  filed  in  this  county  after  you  had  been  a  mem 
ber  of  his  household  for  fully  two  years. 

"I  seriously  debated  mentioning  these  points 
to  Thurston,  after  my  visit  down  there,  but  on 
reflection  decided  against  it.  Contrary  to  the  com 
mon  assumption  the  law  is  not  an  ass  —  not  alto 
gether!  I  can't  imagine  the  courts  countenancing 
an  effort  to  set  aside  this  adoption  on  so  flimsy  a 
pretext.  Mr.  Farley  not  only  complied  with  the 
law  to  the  best  of  his  belief,  but  let  the  world  in 
general  understand  that  he  looked  on  you  as  his 
child  and  heir." 

'  That's  what  every  one  believed,  of  course," 
Nan  murmured. 

"I  dare  say  there's  a  will,"   Eaton  continued. 

'  Thurston  may  have  to  defend  that  —  but  you  may 

rely  on  him.   I  have  already  made  an  appointment 

to  meet  him  at  luncheon  to  turn  over  to  him  all  my 

data.   I  '11  say  to  you  in  all  sincerity  that  I  don't 

271 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

see  the  slightest  cause  for  uneasiness.  If  there's  a 
valid  will,  that  settles  the  adoption  line  of  attack, 
though  this  man  may  go  the  length  of  trying  to 
annul  it  on  the  insanity  plea,  merely  to  tie  up  the 
estate  until  you  pay  something  to  these  cousins  to 
get  rid  of  him." 

"There  is  a  will;  there  are  a  number  of  them,  I 
think,"  said  Nan  soberly. 

"Mr.  Farley  told  you  about  them  —  let  you 
know  what  he  was  doing?  " 

"No;  he  never  spoke  of  them,  except  in  general 
terms.  I  used  to  see  him  hiding  them;  once  one 
dropped  out  of  his  dressing-gown."  She  hesitated; 
then  added  quickly:  "I  read  that  one  before  put 
ting  it  back.  I  know  I  should  n't  have  done  it,  but 
I  did  —  as  I  Ve  done  a  good  many  things  these  last 
two  years  I  should  n't!  " 

"Don't  be  so  hard  on  yourself!  It  was  quite 
natural  for  you  to  look  at  it." 

"The  night  he  died,"  she  went  on  breathlessly, 
"he  had  been  looking  at  a  number  of  wills  he  kept 
hidden  in  mamma's  old  sewing-table.  I  put  them 
back  in  the  drawer.  I  suppose  Mr.  Thurston  will 
ask  for  them  when  he  comes." 

"Yes;  he  should  see  all  such  papers.  You  must 
tell  him  everything  you  know  that  relates  to  them." 

"I  almost  burnt  them  all  up  last  night,"  she 
exclaimed  in  a  strange,  hard  tone.  "That  one 
I  read  made  me  angry.  I  thought  it  niggardly  and 
unjust.  And  —  some  one  told  me"  —  in  her  eager- 

272 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  LAW 

ness  to  make  her  confession  complete  she  nearly 
blurted  out  Copeland's  name  —  "that  if  there 
should  be  no  will  I  'd  inherit  everything.  And  last 
night  I  fought  that  out.  And  it  was  a  hard  fight; 
it  was  horrible!  But  for  once  in  my  life  I  got  a  grip 
on  myself.  You  may  remember  saying  to  me, 
'  Don't  wobble.'  Well,  I  wobbled  till  I  was  dizzy  - 
but  I  wobbled  right!  And  now  that  that's  over, 
I  believe  —  though  I  'm  afraid  to  say  it  aloud  — 
that  I  'm  a  different  sort  of  a  girl  some  way.  I  hope 
so;  I  mean  to  be  very,  very  different." 

"You  poor,  dear,  little  Nan,"  he  said  softly. 
"I'm  proud  of  you  —  but  not  very  much  sur 
prised!" 

"But  you  see  it  doesn't  count,  anyhow,"  she 
said,  smiling,  pleased  and  touched  by  his  praise. 
"If  there's  a  will,  it's  bad;  if  there  is  n't,  I'm  not 
to  be  considered!" 

"Don't  belittle  your  victory  by  measuring  it 
against  mere  money.  As  for  those  purely  business 
matters,  they'll  be  attended  to.  You're  not  going 
to  be  thrown  out  on  the  world  just  yet." 

"I  shouldn't  cry  —  not  now  —  if  it  came  to 
that!  Now  that  I  know  what  they  mean,  I  think  I 
rather  like  these  little  wars  that  go  on  inside  of  us. 
But  I  tell  you  it  was  good  to  see  the  daylight  this 
morning  and  know  I  could  pass  a  mirror  and  not 
be  afraid  of  my  own  face!" 

"It  is  rather  nicer  that  way;  much  nicer,"  he 
said,  with  his  rare  smile.  "I'm  glad  you  told  me 

273 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

this.    I  see  that  I  don't  need  to  worry  about  you 
any  more." 

"You  have  n't  really  been  doing  that  ?" 
"At  times,  at  times,  my  dear  Nan,"  he  said,  look 
ing  at  her  quizzically,  "you've  brought  me  to  the 
verge  of  insomnia!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   COPELAND-FARLEY   CELLAR 

AT  twelve  o'clock  on  the  night  of  Nan's  pro 
longed  struggle,  Jerry,  having  walked  to  the  station 
with  a  traveling  man  of  his  acquaintance,  paused 
at  the  door  of  Copeland-Farley,  hesitated  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  let  himself  in.  He  whistled  a 
warning  to  the  watchman,  as  was  his  habit  when 
making  night  visits  to  the  establishment.  Hearing 
no  response,  he  assumed  that  the  man  was  off 
on  his  rounds  and  would  reach  the  lower  floor 
shortly. 

He  opened  his  desk  and  busied  himself  with  some 
memoranda  he  had  made  from  the  books  that 
afternoon.  There  was  no  denying  that  the  house 
was  in  a  bad  way ;  the  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
of  notes  carried  by  the  Western  National  matured 
the  next  day,  and  in  addition  to  these  obligations 
the  Company  was  seriously  behind  in  its  merchan 
dise  accounts. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  and  the  watchman 
made  no  sign.  Jerry  closed  his  desk,  walked  back 
to  the  elevator-shaft,  and  shouted  the  man's  name. 
From  the  dark  recesses  of  the  cellar  came  sounds 
as  of  some  one  running,  followed  by  a  stumble  and 
fall.  He  called  again,  more  loudly,  but  receiving 

275 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

no  response,  he  ran  to  the  stairway,  flashed  on  the 
lights,  and  hurried  down. 

His  suspicions  were  aroused  at  once  by  a  heap 
of  refuse,  surmounted  by  half  a  dozen  empty  boxes, 
piled  about  the  wooden  framework  of  the  elevator- 
shaft. 

The  room  where  oils,  paints,  ethers,  acids  and 
other  highly  inflammable  or  explosive  stock  was 
stored  was  shut  off  from  the  remainder  of  the  cellar 
by  an  iron  door  that  had  been  pushed  open.  As 
he  darted  in  and  turned  on  the  lights,  he  heard 
some  one  stealthily  moving  in  the  farther  end  of 
the  room. 

Seizing  a  fire-extinguisher  he  bawled  the  watch 
man's  name  again  and  plunged  in  among  the 
barrels.  A  trail  of  straw  indicated  that  the  same 
hand  that  had  piled  the  combustibles  against  the 
shaft  had  carried  similar  materials  into  the  danger 
ous  precincts  of  the  oil  room.  In  a  moment  he 
came  upon  a  barrel  of  benzine  surrounded  with 
kindling. 

He  decided  against  calling  for  help.  No  harm 
had  yet  been  done,  and  it  was  best  to  capture  the 
guilty  person  and  deal  with  him  quietly  if  possible. 
He  kicked  the  litter  away  from  the  barrel  and 
waited.  In  a  moment  a  slight  noise  attracted  his 
attention,  and  at  the  same  instant  a  shadow  van 
ished  behind  an  upright  cask.  He  waited  for  the 
shadow  to  reappear,  advancing  cautiously  down 
the  aisle  with  his  eyes  on  the  cask. 

276 


THE  COPELAND-FARLEY  CELLAR 

"Come  out  o'  that!"  he  called. 

A  foot  scraped  on  the  cement  floor  and  definitely 
marked  the  cask  as  the  incendiary's  hiding-place. 
He  jumped  upon  a  barrel,  leaped  from  it  to  the 
cask,  and  flung  himself  upon  a  man  crouched  be 
hind  it.  They  went  down  together  with  Jerry's 
hand  clutching  the  captive's  throat. 

"Good  God!"  he  gasped,  as  he  found  himself 
gazing  into  Copeland's  eyes. 

The  breath  had  been  knocked  out  of  Billy  and 
he  lay  still,  panting  hard.  His  right  hand  clenched 
a  revolver. 

"Give  me  that  thing!" 

Jerry  wrenched  it  from  Copeland's  convulsive 
clutch,  thrust  it  into  his  coat  pocket,  and  stood 
erect. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Damn'  near  shootin'  you,  Jerry,"  drawled  Cope- 
land,  sitting  up  and  passing  his  hand  slowly  across 
his  face;  "damn'  near!  Gimme  your  hand." 

Jerry  drew  him  to  his  feet.  Copeland  rested 
heavily  on  the  cask  and  looked  his  employee  over 
with  a  slow,  bewildered  stare. 

"  Might  'a'  known  I  couldn't  pull  'er  off!  Always 
some  damn'  fool  like  you  buttin'  into  my  blizness. 
'S  my  blizness!  Goin'  do  what  I  damn'  please  with 
my  blizness.  Burn  whole  damn'  thing  down  'f  want 
to.  I  'm  incenjy  —  what  you  call  'm?  —  incenjy- 
ary,  —  what  you  call  'm  —  pyromaniac.  Go  to 
jail  and  pen'tenshary  firs'  thing  I  know." 

277 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Not  this  time,"  said  Jerry  sternly.  "I'm  go 
ing  to  take  you  home." 

"Home?  Whersh  that?"  asked  Copeland,  grin 
ning  foolishly. 

"Well,  I  guess  a  Turkish  bath  would  be  better. 
Where's  Galloway?" 

"Gall' way's  good  fellow;  reli'ble  watchman. 
Wife's  sick;  sent  him  home  with  my  comp'ments. 
Told  'im  I'd  take  full  reshponshibility." 

"You  did  n't  expect  to  collect  the  insurance  on 
that  story,  did  you?  You  must  have  a  low  opinion 
of  the  adjusters.  I'll  fire  Galloway  to-morrow  for 
leaving  you  here  in  this  shape." 

" Not  on  yer  life  y'  won't!  Silly  old  man  did  n't 
know  I  wuz  loaded.  Came  on  me  sud'ly  —  very 
sud'ly.  Only  had  slix  slocktails  —  no;  thass  wrong; 
thass  all  wrong.  You  know  what  I  mean.  Effect 
unusual  —  mos'  unusual.  Just  a  few  small  drinks 
at  club.  Guess  I  can't  carry  liquor's  graceful-ly  as 
I  used  to.  Billy  Copeland 's  no  good  any  more. 
Want  lie  down.  Good  place  on  floor.  Nice  bed 
right  here,  Jerry.  Lemme  go  t'  sleep." 

He  grasped  the  edge  of  the  cask  more  firmly  and 
bent  his  head  to  look  down  at  the  heap  of  straw 
he  had  been  planting  round  it  when  Amidon  inter 
rupted  him. 

"Not  much  I  won't!  But  before  we  skip  I've 
got  to  clean  up  this  trash.  Steady,  now;  come 
along!" 

He  seized  Copeland's  arm  and  forced  him  to  the 
278 


THE  COPELAND-FARLEY  CELLAR 

stairway,  where  he  left  him  huddled  on  the  bot 
tom  step. 

"No  respec'  for  head  of  house;  no  respec'  what 
ever,"  Copeland  muttered. 

Jerry  bade  him  remain  quiet,  and  began  carry 
ing  the  straw  and  boxes  back  to  the  packing-room. 
He  swept  the  floor  clean,  and  when  he  was  satis 
fied  that  no  telltale  trace  remained  he  got  Copeland 
to  the  counting-room  and  telephoned  for  a  taxi. 

"Coin'  to  be  busted  to-morrow;  clean  smash. 
You  made  awful  mistake,  Jeremiah,  in  not  lessing 
—  no,  not  lesting  me  burn  'er  up.  Insurance  'd 
help  out  consid'ble.  Need  new  building,  any 
how." 

"I  guess  we  don't  need  it  that  bad,"  remarked 
Jerry,  rolling  a  cigarette.  He  called  the  police  sta 
tion  and  asked  for  the  loan  of  an  officer  to  do 
watchman  duty  for  the  remainder  of  the  night; 
and  this  accomplished  he  considered  his  further 
duty  to  his  befuddled  employer. 

Now  that  the  calamity  had  been  averted,  his 
anger  abated.  Copeland's  condition  mitigated 
somewhat  the  hideousness  of  the  crime  he  was 
about  to  commit.  Only  his  desperate  financial  sit 
uation  could  have  prompted  him  to  attempt  to  fire 
the  building.  Jerry's  silence  and  unusual  gravity 
seemed  to  trouble  Copeland. 

"Guess  you're  dis'pointed  in  your  boss,  Jere 
miah.  Don'  blame  you.  Drunken  fool  —  damn' 
fool  —  incenjy-ary ;  no  end  bad  lot." 

279 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Put  your  hat  on  straight  and  forget  it,"  re 
marked  Jerry. 

He  telephoned  to  Gaylord,  an  athletic  trainer  who 
conducted  a  Turkish  bath,  and  told  him  to  prepare 
for  a  customer.  He  knew  Gaylord  well,  and  when 
they  reached  his  place  Jerry  bade  him  stew  the 
gin  out  of  Copeland  and  be  sure  to  have  him  ready 
for  business  in  the  morning.  While  Copeland  was 
in  the  bath,  Jerry  tried  all  the  apparatus  in  the 
gymnasium  and  relieved  his  feelings  by  putting  on 
the  gloves  with  Gaylord's  assistant.  After  all  the 
arts  of  the  establishment  had  been  exercised  upon 
Copeland  and  he  was  disposed  of  for  the  night, 
Jerry  went  to  bed.  .  .  . 

In  the  morning  Gaylord  put  the  finishing  touches 
on  his  patient  and  turned  him  out  as  good  as  new. 
It  had  occurred  to  Amidon  that  Copeland  might 
decide  to  avoid  the  store  that  day.  He  was  relieved 
when  he  announced,  after  they  had  shared  Gay- 
lord's  breakfast,  that  he  would  walk  to  the  office 
with  him. 

"Guess  I'll  give  the  boys  a  jar  by  showing  up 
early,"  he  remarked. 

It  was  a  clear,  bracing  morning,  and  Copeland 
set  a  brisk  pace.  He  was  stubbornly  silent  and 
made  no  reference  to  the  night's  affair  until  they 
reached  the  heart  of  the  city.  Then  he  stopped  sud 
denly  and  laid  his  hand  on  Jerry's  arm. 

"Jerry,  I  never  meant  to  do  that;  for  God's  sake, 
don't  believe  I  did!"  he  broke  out  hoarsely.  "I 

280 


THE  COPELAND-FARLEY  CELLAR 

was  troubled  about  the  business,  and  some  other 
things  had  worried  me  lately.  I  took  too  many 
drinks  —  and  I  'd  never  meant  to  drink  again !  I 
would  n't  have  tried  that  sober  —  I  would  n't  have 
had  the  nerve!" 

"It  was  the  drink,  of  course,"  Jerry  assented. 
"It's  all  over  now.  You'd  better  forget  it;  I'm 
going  to!" 

"  I  wish  to  God  I  could  forget  it!" 

Copeland  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently, 
then  drew  himself  erect  and  walked  on  more  quickly. 
Jerry  cheerfully  changed  the  subject,  and  when  they 
were  near  the  store  dived  into  an  alley  that  led  to 
the  rear  door  of  Copeland-Farley  to  avoid  appear 
ing  before  the  clerks  in  Copeland 's  company. 

Copeland  remained  in  his  room  all  morning, 
summoning  the  auditor  from  time  to  time  to  ask 
for  various  data.  He  called  Jerry  once  and  bade 
him  make  every  effort  to  find  Kinney  by  telephone. 
Kinney  was  in  New  York;  had  been  there  for  a 
week.  Copeland  smiled  sardonically  at  this  news. 

"All  right.  I  knew  he'd  been  away,  but  the  fool 
said  he'd  be  back  to-day,"  he  said  spitefully. 
"That 'sail!" 

At  two  o'clock  he  put  a  bundle  of  papers  into  his 
pocket  and  walked  toward  the  Western  National. 
The  bookkeepers  exchanged  meaningful  glances 
and  Jerry  imagined  that  even  the  truckmen  load 
ing  freight  appeared  depressed.  Copeland 's  des 
peration  had  been  expressed  vividly  enough  in  his 

281 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

drunken  attempt  to  burn  the  store.  And  now,  if 
the  Western  National  refused  to  extend  his  loans, 
Copeland-Farley  might  cease  to  exist.  Jerry's 
usual  nonchalance  left  him.  He  failed  to  seize  a 
chance  to  "land"  on  a  drummer  from  a  New  York 
perfumery  house  who  was  teasing  him  for  the 
latest  news  of  Main  Street.  .  .  . 

At  three  o'clock  Eaton  called  Jerry  on  the  tele 
phone. 

"I  want  to  see  Copeland;  please  call  me  the 
minute  he  comes  in,"  said  the  lawyer. 

Shortly  before  four  Copeland  came  back  and 
walked  directly  to  his  office.  There  was  another 
exchange  of  glances  along  the  accountants'  desks, 
where  the  clerks  bent  with  affected  diligence  over 
their  books. 

The  auditor  was  summoned  again,  carried  a 
book  into  Copeland's  room,  and  reappeared  in 
stantly.  The  air  was  tense.  It  was  a  source  of  re 
lief  to  Jerry  to  hear  Eaton's  voice  as  he  reported 
Copeland's  return. 

"Watch  him,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  his  usual 
calmness;  "and  don't  let  him  leave  the  store." 

As  Jerry  nervously  watched  the  door  for  Eaton's 
appearance,  Louis  M.  Eichberg,  of  Corbin&  Eich- 
berg,  entered  and  asked  for  Copeland.  The  book 
keepers  exchanged  glances  again  and  bent  over 
their  ledgers  with  renewed  zeal.  The  door  of  the 
private  office  closed  upon  Eichberg.  It  snapped 
shut  sharply  —  ominously,  Jerry  thought. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   SOLVENT   HOUSE 

"  I  'VE  bought  in  your  stock,"  Eichberg  was  say 
ing  to  Copeland.  "You  put  up  fourteen  hundred 
and  eighty-five  shares  with  the  Western  National 
and  I  've  bought  'em  in  at  private  sale  under  your 
collateral  agreement.  As  I  understand  it  there  are 
fifteen  shares  held  by  employees  to  qualify  as  di 
rectors.  I  guess  there  won't  be  any  trouble  about 
them,  and  we'll  let  'em  stand  for  the  present." 

"Those  men  paid  for  their  stock  and  you  have 
no  right  to  touch  it,"  said  Copeland.  "The  stock 
in  this  company  has  an  actual  value  of  two  hundred 
dollars  a  share  — " 

"Rubbish!  Your  capital's  shrunk  till  you  can't 
see  it  any  more." 

"Don't  you  believe  it!  The  house  was  never  as 
sound  as  it  is  to-day.  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  'm 
going  to  stand  by  and  let  the  Western  sell  me  out 
on  a  small  loan  in  this  high-handed  fashion!  It's  a 
frame-up,  a  conspiracy  to  clean  me  out.  I  've  still 
got  a  majority  of  the  stock,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  run 
for  your  money  before  you  get  through  with  me!" 

"Keep  your  temper,  Copeland!  I  don't  like 
doing  this,  but  it 's  better  for  me  to  have  the  busi 
ness  than  to  let  it  peter  out,  the  way  it's  doing. 

283 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

I  '11  even  say  that  after  we  consolidate  I  '11  be  glad 
to  make  a  place  for  you  in  the  house." 

"Oh,  you  need  n't  trouble!"  returned  Copeland 
hotly.  "You  're  not  going  to  get  rid  of  me  so  easy ! " 

"All  right!  Just  how  much  stock  do  you  think 
you've  got?"  asked  Eichberg  with  a  faint  ironic 
smile. 

"  I  Ve  got  fifteen  hundred  shares;  the  bank  under 
stood  that  when  I  refused  their  demand  for  a  ma 
jority,"  Copeland  replied,  frowning  over  the  stock- 
ledger. 

"That  shows  how  much  you  know  about  your 
own  business!  There's  twenty  shares  out  of  your 
half  that  I  Ve  been  trying  to  lay  my  hands  on  for 
two  months.  It  was  a  deal  Farley  made  the  last 
year  he  was  down  here  with  a  Fort  Wayne  jobber 
named  Reynolds  that  he  bought  out  after  your 
father  died.  I  know  because  we  tried  to  buy  up 
Reynolds  ourselves,  but  old  Uncle  Tim  went  us 
one  better.  There  was  n't  much  to  the  business, 
but  the  good-will  was  worth  something  and  Farley 
let  Reynolds  have  twenty  shares  just  to  beat  us  out 
of  the  sale.  Farley  had  sense !  When  Reynolds  died 
his  executor  sold  the  stock  to  somebody  here.  Fore 
man  handled  it,  but  he  won't  tell  me  who  he  sold 
to.  I  know  you  did  n't  get  it !  Foreman  says  he  spent 
a  month  last  summer  lookin'  for  you  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  buy  the  stock,  but  he  could  n't  get  hold 
of  you.  You  were  always  off  sportin'  with  Kinney ! " 

Copeland  had  forgotten  about  the  Reynolds 
284 


A  SOLVENT  HOUSE 

shares.  He  mentally  cursed  Farley  for  not  remind 
ing  him  of  them ;  Farley  had  never  dealt  squarely 
with  him !  Very  likely  he  had  personally  told  Eich- 
berg  and  the  Western  National  of  the  Reynolds 
shares.  It  was  galling  to  be  obliged  to  learn  from 
Eichberg  things  he  should  have  known  himself.  He 
had  flattered  himself  that  in  persuading  the  bank 
to  accept  fourteen  hundred  and  eighty-five  shares 
as  collateral  instead  of  the  majority  for  which  de 
mand  had  been  made  at  first,  he  had  shown  his 
business  sagacity;  but  evidently  Eichberg  had 
known  of  the  Reynolds  shares  all  along. 

"I  don't  intend  that  what's  left  of  this  business 
shall  go  to  the  bad,"  said  Eichberg.  "Either  you 
come  to  terms,  and  let  'em  know  outside  that 
we  've  arranged  a  merger  in  a  friendly  way,  or  I  '11 
call  up  my  lawyer  and  tell  him  to  apply  for  a  re 
ceiver." 

Outside,  the  interested  and  anxious  clerks  and 
stenographers,  cold  with  excitement,  watched  their 
associate,  Mr.  Jeremiah  Amidon,  who  was  inviting 
the  wrath  of  the  gods  by  knocking  upon  Copeland's 
door.  When  he  entered  in  response  to  an  angry 
bellow,  they  expected  to  see  him  reappear  instantly, 
possibly  at  the  end  of  William  B.  Copeland's  foot. 
To  their  chagrin  Amidon  remained  in  the  private 
office  for  some  time;  and  they  judged  from  the  sud 
den  quiet  that  followed  his  disappearance  that  he 
was  exerting  a  calming  influence  upon  Copeland 
and  his  visitor.  .  .  . 

285 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Jerry  remarked  while  Cope- 
land  and  Eichberg  glared  at  him. 

To  Copeland  the  sight  of  Jerry  was  an  unwelcome 
reminder  of  the  previous  night.  His  remorse  over 
his  effort  to  burn  the  store  vanished ;  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  this  meddlesome  cub  he  would  n't  now 
be  entertaining  Eichberg  in  his  office! 

"Well,  what  does  the  boy  want?"  demanded 
Eichberg,  when  Copeland  found  it  impossible  to 
express  his  wrath  at  Jerry's  intrusion. 

Eichberg  knew  Jerry  perfectly  well;  everybody 
in  the  street  knew  Jerry!  And  it  was  the  basest 
insult  to  refer  to  him  as  the  boy. 

" Excuse  me,  Mr.  Eichberg!  I  just  wanted  to 
hand  a  memorandum  to  Mr.  Copeland." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  certificate  he  had 
purchased  from  Foreman,  and  handed  it  to  Cope- 
land,  who  snatched  it  from  him  with  an  angry 
snarl. 

"Where  did  you  get  this?"  he  asked  faintly  after 
a  glance  at  the  paper. 

"Oh,  it  just  blew  in  my  way  early  in  the  fall.  I 
never  bothered  to  get  a  new  certificate,  but  I  '11 
turn  it  in  right  now." 

He  pulled  out  a  fountain  pen,  removed  the  cap 
deliberately,  and  wrote  his  name  in  the  blank  space 
above  the  executor's  endorsement.  This  done,  he 
brushed  an  imaginary  speck  from  his  cuff,  as  he 
had  seen  Eaton  do,  and  went  out,  closing  the  door 
softly. 

286 


A  SOLVENT  HOUSE 

"Well,  here's  the  answer,  Eichberg,"  said  Cope- 
land,  with  affected  nonchalance;  "here  are  those 
Reynolds  shares." 

"How  did  that  damn'  little  fool  get  this?"  de 
manded  Eichberg,  after  a  careful  scrutiny  of  the 
certificate  and  endorsements. 

"  Oh,  he 's  a  useful  little  damn'  fool !  He 's  always 
picking  up  something,"  replied  Copeland  coolly. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  all  set  up,"  Eichberg  sneered. 
"Why  did  n't  you  come  right  out  and  say  you  had 
that  stock,  and  save  my  time?  It's  worth  some 
thing  if  yours  ain't!  You '11  either  sell  me  that  stock 
or  I'll  have  the  court  throw  you  out.  It's  up  to 
you!" 

"I  told  you  the  truth  about  these  shares,"  said 
Copeland,  whose  good  humor  was  returning.  "I'm 
ashamed  to  say  I  'd  clean  forgotten  them ;  but  you 
see  stock  never  figured  much  in  our  corporation; 
it's  always  been  a  sort  of  family  affair.  I  have 
no  idea  where  Amidon  got  Reynolds's  shares  — 
that's  straight!  He's  always  doing  something  he 
is  n't  paid  for.  And  you  see  it  is  n't  quite  so  easy 
to  clean  me  out.  But  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you; 
you're  a  business  man!" 

Hope  had  risen  in  him.  In  spite  of  his  futile  ef 
forts  to  tide  over  the  crisis  there  was  still  the  remote 
chance  that  Kinney,  who  always  seemed  able  to 
borrow  all  he  wanted  for  his  own  purposes,  might 
extend  a  helping  hand.  His  change  of  manner  had 
its  effect  on  Eichberg. 

287 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE^  PUDDING 

"The  stock  doesn't  cut  any  ice,"  he  fumed. 
"  I  'm  not  goin'  to  have  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
in  a  concern  that's  losin'  money  like  this  one! 
That  statement  you  showed  the  bank  was  rotten! 
You  ain't  got  any  credit ;  and  you  know  mighty  well 
you  can't  go  on  here.  You  '11  either  come  to  terms 
or  I'll  get  a  receiver  to-morrow.  That's  all  there 
is  of  that!" 

He  clapped  on  his  hat  and  turned  to  the  door 
just  as  it  opened  upon  Eaton. 

"I'll  look  in  again  in  the  morning,  Copeland," 
said  Eichberg  in  a  loud  tone.  "You  just  think  over 
that  matter,  and  I  guess  you'll  see  it  my  way." 

"Never  put  off  till  to-morrow  what  you  can  do 
to-day,"  remarked  Eaton,  projecting  himself  into 
the  office.  "I'll  close  the  door  if  you  don't  mind, 
Copeland.  And,  Mr.  Eichberg,  please  wait  a 
moment." 

"If  you're  his  lawyer,  you  don't  want  me  here. 
I've  said  all  I've  got  to  say  to  Copeland,"  Eich 
berg  answered.  But  he  waited,  glowering  at  Eaton, 
who  removed  his  overcoat,  placed  it  carefully  on  a 
chair,  and  began  drawing  off  his  gloves. 

"Mr.  Eichberg,  they  told  me  a  moment  ago  at 
the  Western  National  that  certain  stock  held  as 
collateral  for  maturing  Copeland-Farley  notes  had 
been  bought  by  you.  Is  that  true?" 

"That's  correct!  I  guess  it  was  all  regular," 
Eichberg  snapped. 

"We'll  come  to  that  presently.  You  have  now 
288 


A  SOLVENT  HOUSE 

in  your  possession  through  that  purchase  fourteen 
hundred  and  eighty-five  shares  of  stock?" 

"Right!"  ejaculated  Eichberg  loudly. 

Eaton  raised  his  hand,  glanced  intently  at  the 
palm,  and  then,  with  one  of  his  familiar  tricks, 
bent  his  gaze  directly  upon  Eichberg. 

"Being  a  competitor  of  Copeland-Farley  and  a 
director  of  the  bank,  you  have  naturally  —  quite 
naturally  —  thought  it  would  be  a  good  invest 
ment  to  own  a  large  block  of  the  stock?  And  it 
undoubtedly  occurred  to  you  that  a  combination 
of  Copeland-Farley  with  Corbin  &  Eichberg  would 
be  highly  advantageous?  In  fact,  you  thought  you 
had  more  stock  than  Copeland  owns,  and  that  you 
could  come  in  here  and  discharge  him  like  a  dray 
man!" 

"That's  my  business!  You  haven't  explained 
yet  how  you  come  to  be  buttin'  in  here." 

"Presently  —  presently!"  replied  Eaton  sooth 
ingly. 

His  calm  demeanor  and  refusal  to  lift  his  voice 
further  infuriated  Eichberg,  who  breathed  hard  for 
a  moment,  then  pointed  a  stubby  forefinger  at  the 
lawyer  as  his  wrath  found  utterance. 

"  Copeland-Farley 's  ruined  —  busted !  If  you  '11 
take  a  look  at  their  last  statement  you  '11  see  they 
can't  pull  out!" 

"You  anticipate  me,"  replied  Eaton  gently. 
"The  fact  is  I  had  meant  to  buy  that  stock  myself, 
but  the  bank's  haste  to  turn  it  over  to  you  has 

289 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

spoiled  that.  I  was  annoyed  —  greatly  annoyed  — 
when  I  found  awhile  ago  that  the  stock  had  been 
sold  —  sold,  in  violation  of  the  stipulation  —  on  the 
bank's  usual  form  —  that  three  days'  grace  were 
to  be  given  to  the  debtor  to  release  his  collateral. 
I  don't  believe  the  Comptroller  would  like  that.  I 
shall  consider  seriously  bringing  it  to  his  attention." 

"What  good  would  three  days  have  done  him?" 
cried  Eichberg.  "The  sooner  he's  put  out  the 
better.  His  accounts  payable  are  goin'  to  bring 
his  general  creditors  down  on  him  in  a  few  days! 
Don't  you  suppose  I  know?  Have  n't  they  been 
telegraphin'  me  from  all  over  the  country  for 
months  askin'  about  this  house?" 

"And,  of  course,"  said  Eaton  softly,  "you  did 
all  you  could  to  protect  your  competitor  —  neigh 
borly  feeling,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Well,  it  will 
be  a  great  relief  to  you  to  know  that  those  accounts 
will  be  paid  to-morrow  —  just  as  soon  as  the  ex 
change  window  of  your  piratical  bank  is  opened. 
There's  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  the  credit 
of  Copeland-Farley  over  there  right  now.  I  know, 
because  I  went  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  and 
made  the  deposit.  This  house  is  solvent  —  abso 
lutely  solvent  Moreover,  Copeland's  stock  in  the 
Kinney  Ivory  Cement  Company  is  now  marketable. 
I  take  some  pride  in  that  fact  myself  —  immod 
estly,  I  dare  say,  and  yet —  I  am  only  human!" 

He  drew  a  telegram  from  his  waistcoat  pocket 
and  handed  it  to  Copeland. 

290 


A  SOLVENT  HOUSE 

"That  patent  case  was  decided  to-day  —  in  favor 
of  Kinney.  Copeland,  I  congratulate  you!" 

Copeland  read  the  message,  and  looked  dully 
from  Eaton  to  Eichberg.  He  was  roused  by  Eich- 
berg,  who  had  no  difficulty  in  expressing  his  emo 
tions. 

"You  fool,"  he  shouted,  shaking  his  fist  in 
Eaton's  face.  "If  you're  tellin'  the  truth,  what 
you  mean  to  do  about  my  stock?" 

Eaton  was  drawing  on  his  gloves  without  haste. 
His  face  expressed  the  mildest  surprise  at  Eichberg's 
perturbation. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Eichberg,  you  were  in  such  a  rush 
to  buy  the  Western's  collateral  that  I  'm  surprised 
that  you  should  trouble  me  —  a  casual  acquaint 
ance  —  with  such  a  question." 

"It's  a  cheat;  it's  a  swindle!  If  there's  any  law 
for  this— " 

He  flung  out  of  the  office  and  tramped  heavily 
to  the  front  door,  while  the  clerks,  worn  with  the 
many  agitations  of  the  day,  stared  after  him 
mutely. 

"In  the  morning,"  Eaton  was  saying  to  Cope- 
land,  "I'll  have  fuller  details  of  the  decision,  but 
there 's  no  doubt  about  it  —  we  Ve  won  on  every 
point.  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you!" 

Copeland  half  rose  to  take  his  proffered  hand; 
then  with  a  groan  he  sank  back  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

NULL   AND   VOID 

"THOSE  documents  have  a  familiar  look,"  re 
marked  Thurston  with  a  smile  as  Nan  placed  the 
packet  of  wills  on  the  table  beside  him  in  the  Far 
ley  parlor.  "Mr.  Farley  was  hard  to  please;  I've 
learned  a  lot  about  will-writing  just  from  studying 
the  different  schemes  he  proposed  from  time  to 
time." 

Nan  described  the  manner  in  which  she  had  found 
the  wills  on  the  night  of  Farley's  death. 

"He  was  evidently  troubled  about  them  and  got 
out  of  bed  to  look  them  over.  This  one,  that  I  found 
lying  open  on  the  table,  is  torn  across  as  though  he 
had  begun  to  destroy  it  when  the  end  came." 

"Very  likely  that  was  his  intention,"  Thurston 
replied.  "I  had  just  written  a  new  will  for  him, 
but  it  was  n't  signed  —  not  unless  he  executed  it 
that  same  afternoon.  Perhaps  you  know  about 
that?" 

"No  one  was  here,  I'm  sure,"  said  Nan,  after  a 
moment's  consideration.  "The  nurse  was  off  duty; 
she  left  for  the  evening  at  four  o'clock,  and  I  'm  sure 
the  servants  were  n't  in  his  room.  I  carried  up  his 
dinner  tray  myself." 

"  It 's  hardly  possible  he  had  signed  that  last  will. 
292 


NULL  AND  VOID 

I  was  always  present  on  such  occasions  and  I  got 
the  witnesses.  When  I  called  now  and  then  with  a 
couple  of  his  friends,  or  telephoned  for  them,  there 
was  a  will  to  be  signed.  You  probably  understood 
that." 

He  began  opening  the  papers,  glancing  quickly 
at  the  last  sheet  of  each  will,  and  turning  them  face 
down  on  the  table.  The  torn  one  he  scrutinized 
more  carefully,  and  returned  to  it  for  further  ex 
amination  when  he  had  disposed  of  the  others. 
Nan  watched  him  nervously.  He  was  a  small, 
slight  man  of  sixty,  with  a  stiff  gray  mustache  and 
a  sharp,  rasping  voice.  It  would  not  have  been 
easy  to  deceive  Thurston  if  she  had  destroyed  the 
wills;  she  could  never  have  gone  through  with  it! 

She  felt  that  she  had  touched  with  her  finger-tips 
the  far  horizons  and  knew  at  last  something  of  the 
meaning  of  life.  She  had  subjected  herself  to  piti 
less  self-analysis  and  stood  convicted  in  her  own 
conscience  of  vanity,  selfishness,  and  hardness. 
The  recollection  of  her  gay  adventures  with  the 
Kinneys  and  her  affair  with  Copeland  had  become 
a  hideous  nightmare.  Not  only  was  she  ashamed 
of  her  dallying  with  Billy,  but  she  accused  herself 
of  having  exerted  a  baneful  influence  upon  him. 
In  all  likelihood  he  would  never  have  sunk  so  low 
as  to  propose  the  destruction  of  Farley's  will  but  for 
his  infatuation  for  her. 

Farley's  death  had  in  itself  exercised  a  chasten 
ing  effect  upon  her.  She  was  conscious  of  trying 

293 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

to  see  herself  with  his  eyes  and  fortify  herself  with 
something  of  the  stern  righteousness  that  made 
him,  in  the  retrospect,  a  noble  and  inspiring  figure. 
The  upturned  faces  at  the  Settlement  haunted 
her;  there  was  a  work  for  her  to  do  in  the  world 
if  only  she  could  lay  her  hands  upon  it!  In  this 
new  mood  the  life  of  ease  which  money  would  se 
cure  weighed  little  against  self-dependence  and 
service.  Money  had  ceased  to  be  an  important 
integer  in  her  calculations. 

Having  concluded  his  examination  of  the  papers, 
the  lawyer  lifted  his  head  with  an  impatient  jerk, 
then  sighed,  and  began  smoothing  the  open  sheets 
into  a  neat  pile. 

"Those  wills  are  worthless,  Miss  Farley,  —  not 
one  of  them  can  be  probated.  The  testator's  signa 
tures  and  the  names  of  the  witnesses  have  been 
scratched  out!" 

In  proof  of  his  statement  he  extended  one  of  the 
wills,  pointing  to  the  heavy  cross-crosses  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sheet. 

"You  have  no  idea  when  he  did  this  —  you 
were  n't  present,  I  suppose?" 

"No;  he  used  to  do  his  writing  at  the  table 
where  he  hid  the  wills.  He  occasionally  wrote  a 
letter  or  a  check  there;  but  I  never  saw  him  open 
the  table.  I  never  knew  of  that  inner  compartment 
till  the  night  he  died." 

"Oh,  I  know  that  table  very  well;  he  had  shown 
me  the  hidden  drawer  and  explained  how  to  open 

294 


NULL  AND  VOID 

it.  But  this  is  most  unfortunate,  deplorable!  I 
kept  in  touch  with  his  doctor  about  his  condition 
and  feared  something  like  this  might  happen.  And 
he  dreaded  it  himself  —  was  afraid  he  might  die 
some  time  without  leaving  just  the  will  he  had  de 
termined  to  make.  I  account  for  all  the  wills  I 
wrote  for  him  but  the  last.  The  last  time  I  was 
here  I  brought  a  new  will,  which  I  don't  find  among 
these.  Are  you  sure  you  have  n't  overlooked  it?" 

She  was  quite  sure  of  it,  but  after  she  had  de 
scribed  in  minute  detail  the  events  of  the  last 
afternoon  of  Farley's  life,  to  confirm  her  state 
ment  that  no  one  who  could  have  acted  as  witness 
had  visited  Farley,  she  took  the  lawyer  upstairs 
to  examine  the  table  for  himself.  They  broadened 
the  scope  of  the  search,  but  without  success. 

"For  the  present  I  think  it  best  for  you  not 
to  read  those  wills,"  he  said,  when  they  had  re 
turned  to  the  parlor.  "They  represent  Mr.  Far 
ley's  changes  of  feeling  in  regard  to  many  things 
-  including  yourself.  A  little  later  I  shall  be  glad 
to  submit  them  to  you.  The  important  thing  just 
now  is  the  threat  of  this  man  Harlowe  to  attack 
your  rights  under  the  adoption.  Mr.  Eaton  and  I 
have  already  discussed  that.  Now  that  we're 
pretty  sure  there's  no  will,  this  may  give  us  some 
trouble,  but  with  characteristic  thoroughness  Mr. 
Eaton  has  prepared  for  just  this  emergency.  His 
reasons  for  not  telling  me  earlier  about  these  things 
are  sound  enough  —  his  fear  of  disturbing  Mr. 

295 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Farley  unnecessarily.  He  would  undoubtedly  have 
wanted  a  proceeding  brought  to  correct  the  adop 
tion,  but  that  could  only  have  advertised  the  error, 
and  Mr.  Farley  might  have  died  before  we  finished 
it.  Still,  if  I  had  known  I  should  have  taken  care 
that  he  did  n't  die  intestate.  But  from  what  Mr. 
Eaton  tells  me,  this  man  is  all  primed  to  attack 
any  will  that  might  have  been  left,  on  the  ground 
of  Mr.  Farley's  mental  incapacity  —  which  is  lu 
dicrous,  of  course.  There  was  never  a  saner  man ; 
and  yet  his  eccentricities  might  be  magnified  be 
fore  a  jury  —  you  never  can  tell.  On  the  whole, 
Mr.  Eaton's  silence  was  justified.  But  our  next 
step  must  be  carefully  considered.  In  the  mean 
time—" 

He  paced  the  floor,  considering  means  of  reliev 
ing  her  anxiety. 

"Of  course,  while  these  things  are  pending  we 
shall  arrange  for  your  maintenance,  on  the  old 
basis,  in  this  house.  No  one  can  pretend  that  Mr. 
Farley  did  n't  have  every  intention  of  providing 
for  you  generously.  It's  only  fair  to  tell  you  this, 
that  even  when  he  seemed  to  waver  at  times  he 
never  cut  your  legacy  below  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars;  and  I  know  he  regretted  the  comparative 
meagerness  of  that  —  tripled  the  amount  in  the 
very  next  will  he  made!  You  need  have  no  fears, 
Miss  Farley,"  he  went  on  reassuringly.  "But  you 
are  entitled  to  your  own  counsel;  it's  only  right 
that  I  should  say  this  to  you  immediately;  and 

296 


NULL  AND  VOID 

I  suggest  that  you  ask  Mr.  Eaton  to  represent  you. 
I  hope  you  will  confer  with  him  at  once." 

He  bowed  with  old-fashioned  formality.  He  was 
more  troubled  than  he  cared  to  have  Nan  know, 
and  her  silence  disconcerted  him.  But  her  face 
expressed  neither  disappointment  nor  alarm.  She 
stood  erect  by  the  table,  an  intent  look  in  her  eyes. 
Not  wishing  to  leave  her  weighed  down  by  the 
uncertainties  of  her  future,  he  said  briskly :  — 

"You  must  n't  bother  yourself  about  these  mat 
ters,  Miss  Farley.  In  the  end  you  will  find  yourself 
a  rich  woman.  So  —  " 

He  waved  his  hand  as  the  preliminary  to  a  quick 
exit,  but  she  called  him  back.  He  did  not  like  being 
called  back;  now,  he  thought,  there  would  be  the 
tears  he  dreaded. 

"You  don't  understand,"  she  said  quietly.  "I 
ought  to  have  made  it  clear  in  the  first  place,  but 
I  did  n't  know  just  how  —  or  when  —  to  say  it. 
I  can't  —  I  will  not  take  any  of  Mr.  Farley's 
money  —  not  even  if  the  law  should  give  it  to  me." 

He  looked  at  her  with  the  mute  appeal  of  the 
deaf  when  they  fail  to  catch  a  meaning. 

"Really,  Miss  Farley— " 

"I  won't  take  one  cent  of  Mr.  Farley's  money," 
Nan  repeated  firmly. 

"  I  can't  blame  you  for  being  disappointed  —  for 
resenting  what  may  appear  to  be  a  lack  of  consider 
ation  on  his  part  for  your  comfort  — 

"Oh,  it  is  n't  that!  I  would  n't  have  you  think 
297 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

that!  I  'm  sure  he  meant  to  do  what  was  right  — 
what  was  generous!  You  don't  know  how  glad  I 
am  that  our  last  day  together  was  a  happy  one  — 
we  had  never  been  on  better  terms.  It's  not  that 
I  have  any  unkind  feeling  toward  papa;  it's  all 
myself.  The  Parleys  were  only  too  kind  to  me. 
I  went  my  own  way  and  it  made  me  selfish  —  and 
pretty  hard,  too,  I'm  afraid.  Papa  knew  it;  and 
you  know  yourself  how  little  he  trusted  me.  And 
he  was  right  about  me:  I  did  n't  deserve  his  con 
fidence.  But  I  'm  going  to  begin  all  over  again,  as 
I  could  n't  if  I  began  fighting  for  this  money.  I  can 
see  now  that  money  can't  make  me  happy.  I'm 
going  to  work;  I'm  going  to  stop  living,  as  I 
always  have,  just  for  myself:  I'm  going — I'm 
going  to  think  about  the  rest  of  the  folks  a  lot!" 

"The  folks?"  repeated  Thurston  feebly.  "What 
folks?" 

"Oh,  everybody!  The  down-and-outers  —  girls 
like  me  who  get  a  bad  start  or  make  mistakes!" 

Thurston's  brows  worked  convulsively.  He  had 
been  prepared  for  anything  but  this. 

"Do  I  —  do  I  understand  you  to  mean  that, 
even  if  this  estate  could  be  turned  over  to  you  to 
morrow,  you'd  decline  to  receive  it?  It  can't  be 
possible  — 

"Yes;  that's  what  I  mean!"  she  cried  eagerly. 
"I've  thought  it  all  out  and  have  made  up  my 
mind  about  it.  I  don't  want  to  be  considered  in 
anything  that  has  to  do  with  papa's  property." 

298 


NULL  AND  VOID 

"But,  my  dear  child,  you  can't  —  you  can't 
abandon  your  claims  in  any  such  fashion!  It's  my 
duty  —  I  owe  it  to  my  friend  and  client  to  see 
that  his  wishes  are  fulfilled.  Why  - 

"Well,"  she  persisted,  "between  all  those  wills 
you  can't  tell  what  he  wanted  —  only  that  I  was 
a  great  problem  to  him.  I  caused  him  a  great  deal 
of  unnecessary  worry  and  heartache.  I  hope  this 
is  n't  going  to  cause  you  any  trouble  — "  And  she 
smiled  in  spite  of  herself  at  his  consternation,  as 
indicated  by  the  twitching  of  his  brows.  And  there 
was,  she  realized,  something-absurd' fo  her' -cool state 
ment  to  a  hard-headea  lawyer  that  she  renounced 
claims  whose  validity  he  was  in  duty  bmi<i3rtc  silp- 
port.  The  situation  was'too  much  for  him ;  he  must 
escape  as  quickly  as  possible  from  this  young  woman 
who  brushed  away  a  fairly  tangible  fortune  as  a 
waiter  clears  away  bread  crumbs. 

"Really,  Miss  Farley — "  he  began;  but,  think 
ing  of  nothing  further  to  say,  he  backed  awkwardly 
into  the  hall. 

She  helped  him  into  his  coat  and  opened  the 
street  door.  He  hurried  off  without  saying  good 
bye,  clasping  Timothy  Farley's  wills  tightly  under 
his  arm. 

A  light  snow  was  falling ;  Nan  stood  on  the  steps 
and  lifted  her  hot  face  to  the  fluttering  flakes.  She 
watched  Thurston  until  he  turned  the  corner  and 
then  went  to  the  telephone. 

In  a  moment  she  was  connected  with  Mrs.  Cope- 
299 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

land  at  the  farm.  "I  want  a  job,"  she  was  saying 
in  a  cheerful  tone;  "yes,  that's  it  —  a  chance  to 
work.  You  told  me  the  other  day  you  needed  some 
one  to  look  after  your  business  at  the  market-house. 
I'm  applying  for  the  job.  Oh,  no!  I'm  not  fool 
ing;  I  want  that  place!  Well,  I  want  to  see  you, 
too;  I'll  be  out  early  in  the  morning!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IN   TRUST 

"COPELAND  FARM  PRODUCTS"  in  blue  letters 
against  a  white  background  swung  over  Nan's 
head  on  Tuesday,  Thursday,  and  Saturday  morn 
ings  in  the  city  market-house.  On  those  days  she 
left  Mrs.  Copeland's  farm  at  five  o'clock  with  the 
day's  offerings  and  by  six  the  stand  was  in  order. 

An  endless,  jostling  throng  surged  by,  and  every 
sale  she  effected,  every  negotiation  for  the  future 
delivery  of  an  order,  had  all  the  joy  of  an  adventure. 
Her  immediate  neighbors  were  a  big-fisted  German 
gardener  and  a  black-eyed  Italian  girl  who  sold 
fruits  and  vegetables.  When  business  lagged,  the 
German  chaffed  her  about  her  wares  or  condoled 
with  her  when  some  frugal  marketer  priced  her 
butter,  sniffed,  and  departed.  Nan  commanded  a 
meager  knowledge  of  Italian  and  flung  a  phrase 
at  her  dark-eyed  neighbor  now  and  then  in  the 
spirit  of  comradeship  which  the  place  encouraged. 
She  liked  her  "job."  She  assured  herself  that  she 
had  never  had  so  much  fun  in  all  her  life,  and  that 
never  again  would  she  eat  the  bread  of  idleness. 

But  it  had  not  proved  so  easy  as  she  imagined 
it  would  be  to  slip  out  of  her  old  life  into  the  new. 
If  she  had  left  the  Farley  house  preceded  by  a 

301 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

brass  band  and  had  marched  round  the  monument 
and  the  length  of  Washington  Street  before  taking 
her  place  in  the  market,  her  flight  could  hardly 
have  attracted  more  attention. 

The  town  buzzed.  The  newspapers  neglected  no 
phase  of  Nan's  affairs,  nor  did  they  overlook  her 
as  she  stood  behind  the  counter  dispensing  "Cope- 
land  Farm  Products."  She  was  surprised  and  vexed 
by  her  sudden  notoriety.  A  newspaper  photog 
rapher  snapped  her,  in  her  white  sweater  and  blue- 
and-white  tarn  o'shanter,  passing  eggs  over  the 
counter.  The  portrait  bore  the  caption,  "Miss 
Nancy  Farley  in  a  New  Role,"  and  was  supple 
mented  by  text  adorned  with  such  sub-headings  as 
"Renounces  her  Fortune"  and  "Throws  Away  a 
Million  Dollars."  To  be  thus  heralded  was  prepos 
terous;  she  had  merely  gone  to  work  for  reasons 
that  were,  in  any  view  of  the  matter,  her  own 
private  affair.  But  public  sentiment  was  astonish 
ingly  friendly ;  even  those  who  had  looked  askance 
at  her  high  flights  with  the  Kinney  crowd  said  it 
was  an  outrage  that  Farley  had  failed  to  provide 
for  her  decently. 

Fanny,  thinking  at  first  it  was  only  a  joke,  a 
flare  of  temperament  (references  to  her  tempera 
ment  had  begun  to  pall  upon  Nan!),  had  welcomed 
Nan  to  her  house  and  given  her  charge  of  the 
market-stand;  but  it  was  not  without  difficulty 
that  she  persuaded  the  girl  to  occupy  her  guest 
room  and  share  her  meals. 

302 


IN  TRUST 

"You'd  better  scold  me  when  I  make  mistakes, 
for  if  I  find  I  don't  suit  I'll  fire  myself,"  Nan  de 
clared.  "And  if  I  have  to  leave  you,  I'll  go  to 
clerking  in  a  department  store.  I  just  mention  this 
so  you  won't  be  too  polite.  This  is  n't  any  grand 
stand  play,  you  see ;  I  'm  serious  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life!" 

It  was  certain,  at  any  rate,  that  Copeland  Farm 
Products  were  sold  with  amazing  ease.  When  it 
became  known  that  Nan  Farley  had  become  Mrs. 
Copeland's  representative  "on  market,"  there  was 
lively  competition  for  the  privilege  of  purchasing 
those  same  "  products."  Fanny  complained  ruefully 
that  the  jellies,  jams,  and  pickles  created  by  the 
young  women  in  her  industrial  house  would  be  ex 
hausted  before  Christmas  and  that  nothing  would 
remain  to  sell  but  butter  and  eggs.  Nan  suggested 
orange  marmalade  and  a  cake-baking  department 
to  keep  the  girls  at  work  during  the  winter,  and 
on  the  off  days  she  set  herself  to  planning  the  prep 
aration  of  these  "specialties."  Mrs.  Farley's  cook 
ing  lessons  had  not  gone  for  naught;  Nan  could 
bake  a  cake  in  which  there  was  no  trace  of  "sad 
ness,"  and  after  some  experiments  with  jumbles 
and  sand-tarts  she  sold  her  first  output  in  an  hour 
and  opened  a  waiting  list. 

Mrs.  Copeland  told  Eaton  at  the  end  of  the  sec 
ond  week  that  she  had  never  known  the  real  Nan 
till  now.  There  was  no  questioning  the  girl's  sincer 
ity  ;  she  had  cut  loose  from  her  old  life,  relinquished 

303 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

all  hope  of  participating  in  Farley's  fortune,  and 
addressed  herself  zealously  to  the  business  of  sup 
porting  herself.  She  became  immediately  the  idol  of 
the  half-dozen  young  women  in  the  old  farm-house, 
who  thought  her  an  immensely  "romantic"  figure 
and  marveled  at  her  industry  and  resourcefulness. 

"Splendid!  Give  her  all  the  room  she  wants," 
Eaton  urged  Mrs.  Copeland.  "She's  only  finding 
herself;  we'll  have  the  Nan  she  was  meant  to  be 
the  first  thing  we  know." 

"I  didn't  know  all  these  nice  church-going 
people  would  come  to  condole  with  me,  or  I  'd 
have  left  town,"  Nan  confided  to  Fanny.  "These 
women  who  would  n't  let  their  daughters  associate 
with  me  a  year  ago  can't  buy  enough  eggs  now  to 
show  how  much  they  sympathize  with  me.  If  they 
don't  keep  away,  I'm  going  to  raise  the  price  of 
their  eggs,  and  that  will  break  their  hearts  —  and 
the  eggs!  But  do  you  know,"  she  went  on  gravely, 
"  I  Ve  never  been  so  happy  in  my  life  as  I  am  now! 
And  I  would  n't  have  anybody  think  it  was  out  of 
pique,  or  with  any  unkind  feeling  toward  papa,"  — 
tears  shone  in  her  eyes  as  the  word  slipped  from  her 
tongue,  —  "but  I  tell  you  nobody  ever  could  have 
made  a  nice,  polite  girl  out  of  me.  I  was  bound  to 
get  into  scrapes  as  long  as  I  had  n't  anything  really 
to  do  but  fill  in  time  between  manicuring  and  hair- 
washing  dates.  There's  a  whole  lot  in  that  old 
saying  about  making  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's 
ear:  it  can't  be  did!" 

304 


IN  TRUST 

"  If  you  talk  that  way,"  Fanny  laughed,  "I  shall 
turn  you  out  of  my  house.  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  I  approve  of  what  you  're  doing.  I  'm  letting 
you  do  it  because  I  'm  scared  not  to!" 

"You'd  better  be  —  for  if  you  had  n't  taken  me 
in,  I  should  have  gone  on  the  stage,  —  honestly,  I 
should,  —  in  vaudeville,  most  likely,  doing  mono 
logues  right  between  the  jugglers  and  the  trained 
seals."  .  .  . 

On  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays  Mr. 
Jeremiah  A.  Amidon  found  it  convenient  to  visit 
the  market-house  as  early  as  seven-thirty  (in  spite 
of  pressing  duties  at  the  store),  to  make  sure, 
he  said,  that  Nan,  and  the  farmhand  who  drove 
her  in  and  helped  arrange  the  stock,  had  safely 
passed  all  the  railroad  crossings  on  the  way  to 
town.  Jerry  was  a  consoling  person  and  unobtru 
sively  thoughtful  and  helpful.  And  in  his  way  he 
was  almost  as  keen  as  Eaton.  Jerry  did  not  require 
explanations,  and  nothing  is  so  wholly  satisfactory 
as  a  friend  who  understands  without  being  told. 

"Little  girl,  if  your  eggs  are  guaranteed  under 
the  Pure  Food  Act,  I'll  take  one  —  the  large  size." 

"You'll  find  the  hard-boiled  eggs  at  the  lunch 
counter  in  the  next  aisle,  little  boy,"  Nan  answered. 
"How  is  John  Cecil?" 

"Working  himself  to  death.  You've  driven  him 
to  it!" 

"I  hope  you  two  are  not  abusing  me;  how 
about  it?" 

305 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"No;  not  vocally.  Cecil's  shut  up  in  his  office 
every  night,  getting  ready  to  clean  up  those  cousins 
of  Farley's  down  on  the  river,  but  he  does  n't  say 
anything.  Look  here,  Nan,  we've  got  a  line  of 
cold  cream  and  other  toilet  marvels  —  stuff  you 
could  handle  here  as  a  side  line.  Let  us  send  you 
up  a  bunch  to  put  next  to  that  pink  jelly.  It's 
high  grade  and  we'll  make  it  to  you  at  the  right 
price." 

"  Not  on  your  life,  Jerry.  Drugs  and  hand-made 
country  butter  can't  associate.  You'd  better  run 
down  to  your  own  little  shop  now  and  go  to  work." 

After  his  morning  inspection  he  was  likely  to 
reappear  at  lunch  time,  to  see  her  for  a  moment 
before  she  left  for  the  farm ;  and  he  assisted  in  bal 
ancing  her  cash  when  she  confessed  that  it  would  n't 
"gee."  His  pride  in  her  was  enormous;  he  was 
satisfied  that  there  was  no  other  girl  to  compare 
with  her. 

Jerry's  admiration  was  so  obviously  genuine  and 
supported  by  so  deep  an  awe  and  reverence  that 
no  girl  could  have  helped  liking  it.  And  Jerry  was 
unfailingly  amusing;  his  airs  and  graces,  his  at 
tempts  to  wear  a  little  learning  lightly,  were  wholly 
transparent  and  invited  the  chaff  he  welcomed. 
Nan's  feeling,  dating  from  the  beginning  of  their 
acquaintance,  that  their  common  origin  in  the  back 
streets  of  Belleville  established  a  tie  between  them 
had  grown  steadily.  In  all  her  late  perplexities 
and  self-questioning  she  had  found  herself  wonder- 

306 


IN  TRUST 

ing  constantly  what  Jerry  would  say,  and  he  had 
supported  her  warmly  in  her  rejection  of  the  estate. 

He  had  from  the  first  confided  his  ambitions  to 
her  and  they  were  worthy  ones.  He  not  only  meant 
to  get  on,  but  he  meant  to  overcome  as  far  as 
possible  his  lack  of  early  advantages.  He  stead 
fastly  spent  an  hour  at  his  Latin  every  night  before 
he  went  to  bed,  with  only  an  occasional  lift  from 
the  busy  Eaton.  "As  long  as  I've  tackled  it,  I 
might  as  well  keep  it  up,"  he  remarked  apologeti 
cally.  "  Cecil  says  my  English  is  so  bad,  I  'd  better 
learn  a  few  foreign  languages  to  make  me  respect 
able!" 

One  noon  Nan  was  munching  an  apple  while 
waiting  for  Mrs.  Copeland's  man  to  carry  out  the 
empty  crates  and  boxes,  when  Jerry  appeared, 
looking  unusually  solemn. 

"What's  wrong  with  the  world?  You  're  not  out 
of  work,  are  you?"  she  demanded. 

"I  hoped  you'd  ask  me,"  he  replied,  with  mock 
dejection.  "The  boss  has  been  making  a  few 
changes  at  the  store  and  I  Ve  got  a  new  job." 

"Better  or  worse?"  she  asked,  with  feigned  care 
lessness. 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  referred  to  Cope- 
land  since  her  removal  to  the  farm;  and  there 
were  still  vast  areas  of  ignorance  and  uncertainty 
in  his  mind  as  to  her  feeling  toward  Copeland. 

"Better  for  me;  I  don't  know  about  the  house," 
he  answered.  "Hasn't  anybody  told  you  every- 

307 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE  PUDDING 

thing  that's  happened  down  our  way?"  He  seated 
himself  on  the  counter  and  clasped  one  knee  with 
his  gloved  hands.  "Well,  we've  reorganized;  just 
about  everything's  changed  except  the  sign.  Boss 
steady  as  a  rock;  things  rather  coming  his  way 
now.  You  heard  about  Kinney  Cement?  There 
was  never  any  doubt  about  Cecil  winning  the 
patent  cases;  and  now  the  boss  has  sold  out  his 
interest  —  quit  cement  for  good  and  all ;  concen 
trating  on  drugs.  I  guess  he  got  a  good  price  for 
his  cement  stock,  too." 

He  waited  to  see  how  she  was  affected  by  these 
confidences. 

"The  drug  business  was  in  a  bad  way,  wasn't 
it?"  she  asked  carelessly. 

"Um,  well;  it  did  look  for  a  few  minutes  as 
though  we  might  n't  pull  through." 

She  laughed  at  his  lightly  emphasized  "we." 

"What  are  you  doing  now?  —  counting  money 
or  running  the  elevator?" 

"Tease  me  some  more!  Say,  Nan,  I'm  not  kid 
ding  you.  The  boss  made  a  new  job  for  me;  I'm 
sales  manager  —  going  to  start  out  with  a  suit 
case  next  week  and  shake  hands  with  all  our  cus 
tomers,  just  to  get  in  touch.  Not  to  interfere  with 
our  regular  salesmen;  oh,  no!  Just  asking  about 
the  babies  down  the  line  and  making  the  lowly 
retailer  feel  that  we  live  only  to  please  him.  Do 
you  get  me?" 

"A  gleam  or  two.  So  Mr.  Copeland  got  out  of 
308 


IN  TRUST 

his  troubles,  did  he?    Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it. 
He's  too  good  a  fellow  to  go  to  the  bad." 

This  was  spoken  carelessly,  but  with  a  note  of 
sincerity.  Her  world  had  turned  upside-down  since 
her  last  meeting  with  Billy.  She  waited  for  Jerry 
to  enlighten  her  further. 

"He's  all  right  now;  you  can  bet  on  that;  he's 
not  going  to  fool  with  his  luck  any  more.  It's 
funny"  -  he  was  finding  it  difficult  to  conceal  his 
embarrassment  in  speaking  of  Copeland  to  Nan  — 
"but  the  boss  and  Cecil  are  getting  chummy. 
When  the  pinch  came,  Cecil  was  right  there; 
walked  on  to  the  scaffold  and  saved  him  after  the 
black  cap  had  been  pulled  on  and  tied  under  his 
chin.  This  is  marked  private  —  I  don't  know  any 
thing —  not  a  thing!" 

Nan  nodded.  She  did  not  see  very  clearly  what 
he  was  driving  at,  but  she  refused  to  ask  questions. 

"The  boss  and  Cecil  are  lunching  together  every 
day  now,  and  they  spend  an  hour  together.  That 
tickles  me,"  he  ended  softly.  "I  always  wished 
they'd  hit  it  off  together." 

He  glanced  at  her  for  her  approval  of  this  new 
combination,  which  was  hardly  more  surprising 
than  his  own  manifestation  of  feeling.  He  evidently 
derived  the  deepest  satisfaction  from  the  new 
intimacy  between  Eaton  and  Copeland.  The  fleet 
ing  tenderness  and  wistfulness  in  his  candid,  hu 
morous  eyes  touched  her. 

"Well!"   he  exclaimed  cheerily,  as  the  driver 
309 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

announced  that  the  wagon  was  ready,  "do  you1 
fly  back  to  the  farm,  or  will  you  join  me  in  refresh 
ments  at  a  one-arm  sandwichorium?  I  Ve  only  got 
twenty  minutes." 

"I'll  fool  you  by  accepting,"  she  laughed.  "I 
have  some  errands  to  do  and  can  just  about  catch 
the  three  o'clock  interurban." 

They  walked  to  a  lunch  room,  where  he  found 
seats  and  brought  her  the  sandwich  and  coffee  she 
insisted  was  all  she  wanted.  He  was  observing  her 
narrowly  for  signs  of  discontent,  but  she  had  never 
seemed  happier.  He  understood  perfectly  that  she 
wished  her  new  activities  to  be  taken  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  he  carefully  refrained  from  express 
ing  his  great  pride  in  her.  As  long  as  she  con 
tinued  to  countenance  him,  he  was  satisfied,  and  she 
had  shown  in  countless  ways  that  she  liked  him 
and  believed  in  him. 

He  introduced  her  to  a  bank  clerk  who  paused 
in  his  hurried  exit  to  speak  to  him  and  incidentally 
to  have  a  closer  look  at  Nan.  A  girl  nodded  to  him 
across  the  room ;  he  explained  that  she  was  one  of 
the  smartest  girls  in  town —  "the  whole  show  in 
an  insurance  office;  the  members  of  the  firm 
don't  turn  round  unless  she  says  so." 

"Just  think,"  Nan  remarked,  "  I  might  have  died 
without  knowing  how  it  feels  to  be  a  poor  working 
girl." 

"Well,  don't  die  now  that  you've  found  it  out! 
It  would  be  mighty  lonesome  on  earth  without 

310 


IN  TRUST 

you.  Have  a  chocolate  eclair,"  he  added  hastily, 
—  "  '  business  girl's  special.' ' 

"No,  thanks.  If  I  don't  turn  up  to-night  with 
an  appetite  for  dinner  Mrs.  Copeland  will  be  scared 
and  send  for  the  doctor." 

" By  the  way,  I  wish  you'd  casually  mention  me 
to  that  gifted  lady;  I'd  like  to  hop  off  at  Stop  3 
some  evening  without  being  consumed  by  the  dog. 
How  about  it?" 

"Oh,  she'll  stand  for  it!  She'll  stand  for  'most 
anybody  who  shows  up  with  a  clean  face  and  a  kind 
heart.  She's  an  angel,  Jerry.  She's  the  finest 
woman  that  ever  lived!" 

"I'd  sort  o'  figured  that  out  for  myself,  just 
passing  her  on  the  boulevards.  I  thought  I  'd  try 
for  a  rise  out  of  Cecil  the  other  night  and  just 
mentioned  her  with  a  gentle  o.  k.  I  'd  gone  up  to 
his  office  to  see  if  I  could  shine  his  shoes  or  do  any 
little  thing  like  that  for  him,  and  he  looked  at  me 
so  long  I  nearly  had  nervous  prostration,  and  then 
he  said : '  My  dear  boy,  the  poverty  of  your  vocabu 
lary  is  a  constant  grief  to  me!'  —  just  like  that. 
I  guess  he  likes  her  all  right." 

"She  has  a  good  many  admirers,"  Nan  replied 
noncommittally,  as  she  crumpled  her  paper  napkin. 
"She  can't  help  it." 

"Well,  anything  Cecil  wants  he  ought  to  have." 

"Well,  I  hope — I  should  hate  to  think  he 
could  n't  get  anything  he  wanted  in  this  world," 
said  Nan. 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE  PUDDING 

Jerry  had  been  deeply  troubled  at  times  by  the 
fear  that  his  adored  Cecil  might  be  interested  in 
Nan,  and  the  smile  that  accompanied  her  last  re 
mark  was  the  least  bit  ambiguous.  With  all  his 
assurance  he  was  at  heart  a  humble  person,  and 
he  never  ceased  to  marvel  at  Nan's  tolerance  of 
him.  It  was  not  for  him  to  question  the  ordinances 
of  Heaven.  If  Cecil  and  Nan  — 

Nan  began  drawing  on  her  gloves.  When  they 
reached  the  street  she  explained  that  she  was  going 
to  the  Farley  house  to  gather  up  some  of  her  traps 
that  she  had  left  behind.  Fully  conscious  of  his 
sudden  soberness  and  perhaps  surmising  the  cause 
of  it,  she  lightened  his  burdened  spirit  by  asking 
him  to  come  out  soon  to  see  her,  and  boarded  a 
street  car.  .  .  . 

This  was  her  first  visit  "home"  since  she  had 
left  the  house  to  go  to  Fanny  Copeland's.  In  her 
hurried  flight  she  had  taken  only  a  trunk  and  a 
suit-case,  but  her  summer  gowns  and  a  number  of 
odds  and  ends  remained  to  be  packed  and  moved. 

The  colored  maid,  who  had  only  vaguely  grasped 
the  meaning  of  Nan's  sudden  departure,  admitted 
her  with  joyous  exclamations. 

"About  time  yo'  's  comin'  back,  Miss  Nan. 
Mistah  Thu'ston  came  up  heah  and  tole  me  and 
Joshua  to  stay  right  along.  I  guess  Mistah  Fa'ley 's 
been  turnin'  ovah  in  his  grave  'bout  yo'  runnin' 
away.  He  was  mighty  ca'less  not  to  fix  his  will 
the  way  it  ought  t'  been.  Yo'  '11  find  yo'  room  just 

312 


IN  TRUST 

the  way  yo'  left  it.  Mistah  Thu'ston  said  fo'  me 
to  keep  things  shined  up  just  the  way  they  always 
was." 

Nan  explained  that  she  had  merely  come  to  pack 
her  remaining  things  and  asked  Joshua  to  bring 
up  a  trunk  from  the  cellar.  She  filled  the  trunk  and 
added  to  the  summer  frocks  articles  from  her  desk 
and  other  personal  belongings  that  she  wished  to 
keep  for  their  various  associations. 

When  she  had  finished,  she  crossed  the  hall  to 
Farley's  room,  rather  from  force  of  habit  than  by 
intention.  She  ran  her  hand  across  the  shelves  that 
represented  his  steadfast  literary  preferences  that 
had  never  been  altered  in  her  recollection:  "Pick 
wick,"  Artemus  Ward;  a  volume  of  Petroleum  V. 
Nasby's  writings;  Franklin's  "Autobiography"; 
Grant's  "Memoirs";  Mark  Twain,  in  well-worn 
original  first  editions,  including  the  bulky  "Inno 
cents  Abroad"  and  "Roughing  It."  She  resolved 
to  take  the  "Life  on  the  Mississippi,"  from  which 
she  had  so  often  read  to  him  in  his  last  year.  She 
rummaged  in  the  closet  for  an  album  containing 
crude  old-fashioned  likenesses  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Farley  and  a  series  of  photographs  of  herself  that 
marked  the  swift-moving  years  from  the  time  she 
became  a  member  of  their  household. 

In  a  last  slow  svvey  of  the  room  her  eyes  fell 
upon  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Farley  that  had  arrested 
her  with  its  kind  motherly  glance  on  the  night  of 
her  temptation.  She  reflected  that  her  right  to 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

remove  anything  from  the  house  was  questionable, 
but  she  meant  to  ask  Thurston  to  give  her  the 
portrait  when  the  house  was  finally  disposed  of. 

As  she  lifted  the  frame  and  shook  the  wire  loose 
from  the  hook,  a  paper  that  had  been  thrust  behind 
the  picture  slipped  over  the  mantel-edge  with  a 
soft  rustling  and  fell  at  her  feet.  She  laid  the  por 
trait  on  the  bed  and  picked  up  the  paper. 

A  glance  sufficed  to  tell  her  that  she  had  found 
another  of  Farley's  wills  —  possibly  the  last,  for 
which  Thurston  had  inquired  so  particularly. 

She  opened  it  hurriedly  and  glanced  at  the  last 
sheet.  The  spaces  for  the  signatures  of  testator  and 
witnesses  were  blank.  It  was  only  worthless  paper, 
of  no  value  to  any  one.  It  seemed  a  plausible  as 
sumption  that  Farley,  having  decided  finally  that 
he  would  have  no  use  for  the  earlier  wills,  had 
begun  to  destroy  them  after  first  placing  the  last 
one  behind  the  picture  to  avoid  the  chance  of  con 
fusing  it  with  the  others. 

As  Nan  folded  it,  a  name  caught  her  attention 
and  she  began  to  read. 

I  hereby  give  and  bequeath  to  Frances  Hillard 
Copeland,  as  trustee,  the  sum  of  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  the  same  to  be  held  by  said 
Frances  Hillard  Copeland,  as  such  trustee,  with  the 
following  powers  and  for  the  following  purposes: 
.  .  .  To  pay  to  my  said  daughter  upon  her  marriage 
the  principal  of  said  fund,  together  with  all  accre- 


IN  TRUST 

tions  thereto;  provided,  however,  that  the  mar 
riage  of  my  said  daughter  shall  be  with  the  ap 
proval  and  express  consent  of  said  Frances  Hillard 
Copeland.  .  .  . 

The  room  swayed  as  the  meaning  of  this  proviso 
sank  into  her  whirling  senses.  Farley  had  inter 
posed  Fanny  between  her  and  Billy  —  Fanny, 
Billy's  former  wife!  The  old  man's  hatred  of  Cope- 
land,  his  warm  admiration  for  Fanny,  had  thus 
combined  to  fashion  a  device  that  was  almost 
malevolent  in  its  cunning.  She  followed  Farley's 
reasoning  clearly.  He  had  assumed  that  his  own 
feeling  toward  Copeland  was  shared  by  Fanny,  and 
that  she  would  never  consent  to  a  marriage  which, 
in  the  vague  prospect,  had  given  him  so  much 
concern.  He  had  presumably  promoted  the  friendly 
relations  between  Fanny  and  her  with  this  end  in 
view. 

As  the  first  shock  of  the  revelation  passed,  Nan 
laughed  bitterly. 

"Poor  papa!"  she  murmured. 

He  little  knew  how  near  she  had  come  to  marry 
ing  Billy!  She  gasped  as  it  occurred  to  her  that 
Farley  might  have  discussed  the  matter  with  Fanny 
and  persuaded  her  to  accept  the  trust;  but  she 
quickly  decided  against  this.  It  was  unlikely  that 
Farley  had  ever  spoken  to  her  about  it ;  and  it  was 
inconceivable  that  Fanny  would  have  consented, 
when  the  purpose  was  so  clearly  to  make  use  of 

315 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

her,  as  Billy's  divorced  wife,  to  stand  between 
Billy  and  Farley's  money.  .  .  . 

She  told  the  servants  she  would  send  for  her 
trunk  and  instructed  them  to  wrap  up  Mrs.  Farley's 
portrait  and  hold  it  until  she  could  ask  Thurston's 
permission  to  remove  it.  She  hurried  to  the  car, 
carrying  the  will  with  her.  She  must,  of  course, 
show  it  to  Thurston,  but  that  could  wait  a  day.  .  .  . 

First  she  would  tell  Fanny!  It  was  only  fair 
that  Mrs.  Copeland  should  know.  Copeland  had 
never  been  mentioned  in  their  intercourse,  but  she 
would  now  confess  everything  that  had  ever  passed 
between  her  and  Billy.  She  would  not  spare  her 
self.  She  should  have  done  it  earlier  —  before 
Fanny  threw  the  mantle  of  her  kindness  and  gener 
osity  about  her. 

For  a  month  she  had  been  happy  in  the  thought 
that  she  had  escaped  from  all  her  troubles,  and  that 
she  was  free  of  the  wreckage  of  her  old  life.  Now 
it  was  necessary  to  readjust  herself  to  new  condi 
tions,  and  she  resented  the  necessity  that  com 
pelled  it.  Her  resolution  to  tell  Fanny  of  this  last 
will  and  of  all  that  lay  back  of  it  remained  un 
shaken  as  the  car  bore  her  homeward.  It  was  the 
only  "square"  thing  to  do,  she  repeated  to  herself 
over  and  over  again,  as  she  looked  out  of  the  car 
window  upon  the  gray  winter  landscape. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"l    NEVER   STOPPED   LOVING   HIM!" 

WHILE  they  were  still  at  dinner,  Mrs.  Copeland 
was  called  to  the  telephone.  The  instrument  was 
in  the  living-room  and  Nan  could  not  avoid  hear 
ing  Fanny's  share  in  the  conversation. 

"That's  fine  —  quite  splendid!"  And  then, 
"I'm  so  glad!  I  never  can  thank  you!  Well,  of 
course,  no  one  knows.  You're  quite  sure?  That's 
good;  I  might  have  known  you'd  manage  it  just 
right." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  she  returned 
to  the  table.  She  dropped  a  lump  of  sugar  into  her 
coffee  and  watched  the  bubbles  rise.  Then  she 
lifted  her  head  with  a  smile. 

"I  suppose,  Nancy  Farley,  that  God  has  made 
better  men  than  J.  C.  Eaton  —  kinder  and  more 
helpful  men  —  but  I 've  never  known  them!" 

Her  lips  twitched  and  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"I  suppose  it's  his  nature  to  be  kind  and  help 
ful,"  Nan  replied.  "  I  Ve  never  known  any  one  like 
him." 

"The  nice  thing  about  him  is  that  he  does  you 
a  favor  quite  as  though  it  were  a  favor  to  him. 
He's  just  done  something  for  me  that  no  one  else 

317 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

could  have  done;  there's  no  one  else  I  could  have 
asked  to  do  it!" 

She  lapsed  into  reverie,  and  Nan's  thoughts 
ranged  far.  If  Fanny  and  Eaton  loved  each  other, 
how  perfect  it  would  be!  Their  telephonic  com 
munications  had  been  frequent  of  late ;  nearly  every 
evening  Eaton  called  her,  as  though  by  arrange 
ment,  at  the  dinner  hour.  From  the  character  of 
Fanny's  responses  he  seemed  to  be  reporting  upon 
some  matter,  the  nature  of  which  was  not  apparent, 
but  Fanny  always  came  from  these  conferences  in 
good  spirits. 

While  Fanny  was  studying  the  produce  market 
in  the  afternoon  newspaper,  Nan  went  upstairs  to 
get  the  will.  She  had  set  herself  a  disagreeable  task, 
but  she  did  not  falter  in  her  determination  to  go 
through  with  it.  She  glanced  through  the  will 
again,  rehearsed  the  story  as  she  meant  to  tell  it, 
and  returned  to  the  living-room,  where  Fanny 
began  reading  the  day's  quotations  from  the  sheet 
before  her. 

"Nan,  if  eggs  go  much  higher,  we'll  be  rich  by 
spring.  I  'm  going  to  double  the  poultry  depart 
ment  next  summer.  They  told  me  I  could  n't  make 
it  pay,  and  now  it's  the  best  thing  I  've  got!" 

Nan  liked  these  quiet  evenings.  Sometimes  the 
young  women  from  the  farmhouse  came  in  for  an 
hour  of  music,  and  Nan  occasionally  gave  some  of 
her  recitations,  much  to  their  delight.  At  other 
times  Fanny  retired  to  her  den  to  write  letters 


"I  NEVER  STOPPED  LOVING  HIM!" 

or  post  her  books,  leaving  Nan  to  her  own  de 
vices. 

To-night  Fanny  produced  some  sewing  and  bade 
Nan  tell  her  of  her  day's  experiences. 

"I  hope  the  long  winter  evenings  out  here  are 
not  going  to  bore  you,  Nancy,"  she  remarked,  not 
ing  the  serious  look  on  Nan's  face.  "Gracious! 
What's  that  you  have  there?  It  has  an  official  look; 
we're  not  being  sued,  are  we?" 

"There's  something  I  have  to  tell  you,  Fanny. 
It's  not  a  pleasant  subject,  and  you'll  see  in  a  mo 
ment  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  tell  you.  And  you  '11 
listen,  won't  you;  you'll  let  me  tell  you  everything 
I  have  to  say  about  it?" 

"Of  course,  Nancy!"  said  Fanny  as  Nan  knelt 
beside  her.  "I  should  be  sorry  if  you  couldn't 
come  to  me  with  anything!  I  hope  nothing  dis 
agreeable  has  happened." 

"Well,  it  is  n't  pleasant.  And  to  think  I  have  to 
spoil  one  of  our  evenings  by  talking  of  it!  We've 
had  such  good  times  here.  It  may  be  that  you 
won't  let  me  stay  any  longer  after  you  know.  I 
should  hate  that;  but  I  should  understand  it." 

She  touched  with  a  light  caress  a  fold  of  Mrs. 
Copeland's  gown,  then  withdrew  her  hand  quickly, 
and  began  fingering  the  will  nervously. 

"The  sooner  we  get  through  with  it  the  better, 
Nancy,"  said  Fanny  kindly. 

"Well,  when  I  went  to  the  house  this  afternoon 
I  found  that  other  will,  the  last  one  Mr.  Thurston 

319 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

wrote  for  papa.  It  was  stuck  behind  mamma's 
picture  where  he  must  have  put  it  when  he  began 
destroying  the  other  wills.  It  is  n't  signed,  but, 
of  course,  I  shall  have  to  give  it  to  Mr.  Thurs- 
ton.  Perhaps  I  should  n't  have  read  it,  but  I 
did,  and  I  knew  right  away  that  I  ought  to 
show  it  to  you.  I  thought  about  it  all  the  way 
out  on  the  car,  and  I  'm  sure  it 's  the  best  thing 
to  do." 

"You  poor  child!  I  should  think  you'd  had 
enough  of  wills,  without  new  ones  popping  out 
from  behind  picture  frames.  If  you're  sure  you 
want  me  to  see  it,  I  'm  ready.  Let  me  have  it." 

Nan  passed  it  to  her  grudgingly  and  rose  and 
left  the  room.  She  waited  in  the  dark  dining-room, 
watching  the  headlight  of  a  trolley  car  as  it  neared 
and  passed  in  the  highway  below.  The  time  seemed 
endless.  She  heard  the  rustle  of  paper  as  Fanny 
turned  the  pages.  She  was  reading  carefully,  and 
as  time  passed  without  any  sign  from  her,  Nan 
knew  that  she  was  pondering  deeply  what  she  read. 
Nan  remained  at  the  window,  pressing  her  forehead 
against  the  cold  pane.  Deep  dejection  settled  upon 
her ;  she  had  made  a  mistake ;  it  had  not  been  neces 
sary  to  make  this  revelation,  which  could  only 
cause  her  dearest  friend  unhappiness.  .  .  . 

She  felt  suddenly  the  pressure  of  a  warm  cheek 
against  her  face. 

"Come,  Nancy!  Come  back  to  the  fire  and  let 
us  talk  about  it,"  said  Fanny  in  her  usual  cheery 

320 


"I  NEVER  STOPPED  LOVING  HIM!" 

tone.  "Of  course,  I  never  knew  of  this;  never 
dreamed  of  any  such  thing.  It's  a  strange  idea;  I 
did  n't  know  such  a  will  could  be  made;  but  if  it 
was  done  with  Mr.  Thurston's  counsel,  it  must  be 
all  right.  I  should  have  thought,  though,  that  they 
would  have  asked  me  about  it.  The  responsibility 
is  very  great  —  too  great  —  for  any  one  to  take. 
But,  of  course,  as  the  will  is  n't  signed,  that's  the 
end  of  it." 

Nan  turned  wonderingly,  doubtful  whether 
Fanny  had  grasped  the  full  significance  of  those 
phrases  that  touched  so  nearly  her  own  life. 

"It  doesn't  say  anything  about  my  giving  a 
bond;  I  might  have  stolen  the  money!"  Fanny 
continued  lightly.  "And  if  I  did  n't  like  your  suit 
ors,  I  might  have  played  the  role  of  the  cruel  father 
for  twenty-five  years!  My!  but  you've  had  a 
narrow  escape!" 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand;  you  don't  under 
stand!"  Nan  moaned.  "Don't  you  see;  don't  you 
know  what  it  all  means?" 

"Yes;  I  think  I  do,  Nancy.  But  we  don't  need 
to  talk  of  that.  It's  only  so  much  paper,  anyhow, 
and  we  need  n't  bother.  The  best  thing  to  do  is  to 
forget  all  about  it." 

"But  I  can't  let  it  go  this  way!  You  are  far  too 
kind !  I  must  tell  you  the  rest  of  it  —  I  must  tell 
you  what  made  papa  think  of  this!" 

"But  why  should  we  talk  of  it,  Nancy?  It's 
plain  enough,  I  suppose,  what  was  in  Mr.  Farley's 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

mind;  but  it's  all  over  now.  It  was  just  a  freak  — 
a  grim  bit  of  irony;  no  doubt,  if  he  had  lived,  he 
would  have  changed  his  mind  about  it.  It  would 
have  been  just  as  well  if  you  had  n't  told  me;  it 
really  was  n't  necessary!  I'm  sorry  you  thought  it 
might  make  any  difference." 

"Oh,  but  I  had  to  tell  you;  I  could  never  have 
looked  you  in  the  face  again  if  I  had  n't !  He  was 
afraid  —  he  had  been  afraid  for  more  than  a  year 
that  —  that—" 

She  could  not  say  it;  she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  the  point  of  putting  into  words  the  intent  of 
Timothy  Farley's  last  will,  that  was  to  make  it 
impossible  for  her  to  marry  this  woman's  divorced 
husband!  The  shame  of  it  smothered  her;  she 
wondered  that  she  had  ever  had  the  effrontery  to 
eat  Fanny  Copeland's  bread  and  share  her  fireside. 
The  very  calmness  with  which  Fanny  had  received 
the  news  added  to  her  discomfort. 

Fanny  began  moving  about  the  room  with  her 
light,  graceful  step,  touching  a  book,  unconsciously 
straightening  the  flowers  in  a  vase  on  the  table. 
Then  she  walked  to  the  fire,  where  Nan  crouched 
mutely  watching  her. 

"Nan,  dear,  do  you  want  to  marry  Billy?"  she 
asked,  bending  down  and  resting  her  hands  lightly 
on  Nan's  shoulders. 

No  one  would  have  known  that  this  was  the 
first  time  her  former  husband  had  been  mentioned 
between  them. 

322 


"I  NEVER  STOPPED  LOVING   HIM!" 

"No,  no!  That's  what  makes  this  so  hard  —  so 
unjust!" 

"Were  you  ever — did  you  ever  think  you 
could?"  Fanny  asked  in  the  same  calm  tone,  in 
which  there  was  no  hint  of  accusation. 

"Yes;  there  was  a  time,  there  were  times  — ' 

Fanny  was  about  to  resume  her  idle  wandering 
about  the  room  when  Nan  clasped  her  knees. 

"That's  what  I  want  to  tell  you;  I  want  to  tell 
you  everything  from  the  very  beginning.  Please 
let  me!  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before  I  came 
here ;  but  I  was  so  eager  to  come  I  did  n't  think 
of  it;  it  did  n't  occur  to  me  at  all!  You  see,  if  I 
don't,  —  if  you  won't  listen,  —  I  must  go  away; 
I  can't  spend  another  night  here.  You  must  see 
that!" 

"It  is  like  you  —  it  is  generous  and  kind,  Nancy, 
to  want  to  tell  me.  But  you  don't  need  to;  it's  all 
right;  it's  not  a  thing  that  I  should  ever  have 
asked;  you  know  that." 

She  drew  up  a  chair  and  clasped  Nan's  hands. 

Nan  told  the  story ;  told  it  in  all  its  details,  from 
the  beginning  of  her  acquaintance  with  Copeland. 
She  took  pains  to  fix  dates,  showing  that  she  and 
Copeland  were  launched  upon  a  lively  flirtation 
and  were  meeting,  usually  at  the  Kinneys',  before 
there  had  been  any  hint  of  a  possible  divorce.  It 
had  been  her  fault,  her  most  grievous  sin,  that  she 
encouraged  Billy's  attentions.  They  had  tickled 
her  vanity.  She  had  admired  "Billy  ";  he  had  been 

323 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

a  new  type  of  man  to  her.  She  described  her  decep 
tion  of  Farley[as  to  their  clandestine  meetings ;  told 
of  his  wrath  when  he  learned  of  her  disobedience; 
and,  coming  to  the  frustrated  elopement,  she  made 
it  clear  that  it  was  through  no  fault  of  hers  that  she 
had  not  run  away  with  Copeland  and  married  him. 

"But  it's  all  over;  even  if  it  had  n't  been  for  this 
—  this  idea  of  papa's  to  put  you  between  us  —  I 
should  never  marry  Billy.  No,  no!"  she  moaned. 
"I  had  decided  that  before  papa  died.  You  know, 
don't  you,"  she  pleaded,  with  the  tears  streaming 
down  her  cheeks,  "that  I  would  n't  have  come 
here,  I  could  n't  have  pretended  to  be  your  friend, 
if  I'd  ever  meant  to  do  that!" 

"You  poor  Nancy;  you  poor,  dear,  little  girl!" 
Fanny  murmured. 

There  was  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes  as  she 
slowly  stroked  the  girl's  hair,  but  a  smile  played 
about  her  lips.  She  did  not  speak  again  until  Nan's 
grief  had  spent  itself.  Then  she  bent  to  the  tear- 
wet  face  and  pressed  her  cheek  against  it,  whis 
pering,  - 

"You  poor  little  dear;  you  dear  little  Nancy!" 

"You  will  let  me  stay  —  you  will  let  me  stay, 
after  all  that?"  faltered  Nan. 

"It  was  fine  of  you  to  tell  me;  you  don't  know 
how  grateful  I  am  —  and  glad.  Of  course,  you  will 
stay;  it  would  break  my  heart  to  lose  you  now!" 

Nan  drew  away  and  looked  long  into  the  steady, 
tranquil  eyes.  She  had  not  been  prepared  for  this. 

324 


"I  NEVER  STOPPED  LOVING  HIM!" 

It  was  beyond  comprehension  that  her  story  could 
be  received  with  so  much  magnanimity,  that  for 
giveness  could  be  so  easily  won.  She  caught  the 
hands  that  clasped  her  face  and  kissed  them. 

"Oh,  you  don't  know!"  she  cried  fearfully.  "I 
have  n't  made  you  understand!" 

"Yes,  I  understand  it  all,  Nancy;  I'd  guessed 
most  of  it  without  your  telling  me.  And  it  does 
make  a  difference;  yes,  it  makes  a  very  great  dif 
ference."  And  then,  feeling  Nan's  hands  relax 
their  tight  hold,  and  seeing  the  fear  in  her  face, 
she  smiled  and  added,  "But  not  the  difference  you 
think!" 

"Oh,  if  only  you  don't  send  me  away!  It  was 
brazen  of  me  ever  to  come;  I  don't  know  how  you 
came  to  take  me  without  a  question,  when  I'd 
done  you  the  greatest  wrong  one  woman  can  do 
another." 

"But  maybe  you  did  n't!"  said  Fanny  quickly, 
with  a  wistful  little  smile.  "I'm  going  to  ask  you 
one  question,  Nancy,  —  just  to  be  sure.  But  you 
need  n't  answer;  you  won't  feel  you  must,  will 
you?" 

"Anything  —  anything!"  Nan  faltered. 

Fanny  turned  her  head,  as  though  doubting, 
questioning,  and  her  eyes  were  very  grave. 

"Then,  Nancy,  tell  me  this  —  and  please  be  very 
honest,  and  don't  trouble  about  what  I  may  think 
or  feel  about  your  answer  —  do  you  —  do  you  love 
Billy  — now?" 

325 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"No;  no!  It  was  never  love;  it  was  never  really 
that!  His  attentions  turned  my  head,  and  I  had  n't 
the  sense  to  keep  away  from  him.  It  was  all  my 
fault.  I'm  ashamed  to  tell  you  that  I  was  very 
lonely  after  I  came  home  from  school  —  it  is  un 
grateful  to  be  saying  it;  but  I  have  always  felt 
uneasy  —  self-conscious  among  the  people  here. 
I  have  never  got  away  from  the  feeling  that  when 
ever  they  saw  me  they  were  saying,  'That's  the 
girl  the  Parleys  raked  out  of  the  river  and  did 
everything  for  —  and  just  look  at  her! '  I  could  n't 
help  that  —  the  feeling  that  they  knew  I  was  just 
a  waif,  a  nobody.  It  made  me  rebellious  and  de 
fiant.  Oh,  I  know  it  was  unjustified  and  that  it's 
unkind  to  speak  of  it  even  to  you.  And  that's  why 
—  one  reason,  at  least  —  I  've  enjoyed  knowing 
Jerry  so  much.  Jerry  knows,  and  he  does  n't  care! 
He  knows  every  little  tiny  thing  about  me  and  my 
people,  and  how  poor  and  wretched  we  were !  But 
Billy  —  I  have  n  't  any  feeling  about  him  now  ex 
cept  —  just  friendliness  —  and  pity ! " 

"Then  I'll  tell  you  something  that  will  show 
you  how  very  dear  you  are  to  me,"  said  Fanny,  — 
speaking  slowly.  "  I  think  it  was  this  that  drew  me 
to  you  —  made  me  want  to  be  friends  with  you 
when  Mr.  Farley  first  brought  us  together.  Oh, 
Nan,"  —  her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  —  "I  still 
love  Billy!  I  never  stopped  loving  him!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 
COPELAND'S  UNKNOWN  BENEFACTOR 

EATON  tore  March  from  his  office  calendar, 
crumpled  it  in  his  hand,  and  glanced  out  of  the 
window  as  though  expecting  to  see  April's  heralds 
dancing  over  the  roofs  below.  It  was  nearing  five 
o'clock  and  his  big  desk  was  swept  clear  of  the 
day's  encumbrances.  He  paced  the  floor  slowly, 
his  gaze  ranging  the  walls  with  their  ranks  of  file- 
cases.  A  particular  box  in  the  "C"  section  seemed 
to  exert  a  spell  upon  him.  He  glanced  at  it  several 
times,  then  opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk,  peered  in, 
and  absently  closed  it.  He  was  waiting  for  Cope- 
land,  and  as  usual,  when  he  expected  a  visitor,  was 
planning  the  interview  to  its  minutest  details. 

Since  the  reorganization  of  the  Copeland-Farley 
Company  he  had  been  seeing  much  of  Copeland. 
The  winter  had  wrought  changes  in  Billy  - 
changes  that  at  first  provoked  cynical  comment 
from  persons  who  had  no  faith  in  his  reformation. 
But  people  were  now  beginning  to  say  that  they 
always  knew  Billy  had  the  right  stuff  in  him.  Even 
the  fact  —  which  was  pretty  generally  known  - 
that  Billy  had  narrowly  escaped  disaster  did  n't 
matter  particularly.  Such  fellows  were  always 
lucky.  If  the  decision  in  the  Kinney  patent  case 

327 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

had  n't  come  just  when  it  did,  he  would  have  been 
down  and  out;  but  it  had  come.  Yes;  he  was  a 
lucky  devil. 

Eaton  was  breathing  easier  now,  as  days  passed 
and  Copeland  seemed  to  have  settled  into  a  sober 
and  industrious  routine.  He  was  even  giving  time 
to  broadening  the  scope  and  effectiveness  of  the 
Bigger  Business  Club,  and  had  accepted  a  place  on 
the  municipal  reform  committee  of  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce.  Mr.  Jeremiah  A.  Amidon  pointed  to 
his  boss  with  pride.  Jerry  had  risen  to  the  dignity 
of  a  standing  invitation  to  Sunday  evening  tea  at 
Mrs.  Copeland's  and  was  the  proudest  and  happiest 
of  Jerries. 

Three  slight  snarls  of  a  desk  buzzer,  marked,  to 
the  attentive  ear,  by  an  interval  between  the  second 
and  third,  spelled  Copeland  in  the  office  code. 
Eaton  raised  his  arm  and  pressed  a  button  at 
tached  to  a  swinging  cord  over  his  desk.  By  this 
system  acceptable  visitors  could  be  announced  by 
the  girl  in  the  reception  room  and  disposed  of  at 
long  range.  If  Eaton  did  n't  want  to  be  bothered, 
he  made  no  response.  This  was  only  one  of  his 
many  devices  for  safe-guarding  his  time.  When  he 
was  studying  a  case,  he  ignored  the  presence  of  his 
most  remunerative  clients  on  the  theory  that  they 
were  unlikely  to  have  anything  of  importance  to 
impart.  It  was  a  fair  assumption  that  before  he 
undertook  any  case  he  extracted  from  the  client's 
head  and  stored  in  a  file-box  all  the  information  of 

328 


COPELAND'S   UNKNOWN   BENEFACTOR 

which  that  particular  client  was  possessed.  Clients 
resented  this  treatment,  but  as  Eaton  was  ad 
mittedly  the  best  patent  lawyer  in  three  States, 
they  were  obliged  to  humor  him. 

Copeland  entered  with  a  quick,  springy  step. 
Jerry  had  persuaded  him  to  spend  an  hour  three 
times  a  week  at  Gaylord's,  and  as  a  result  Cope- 
land  was  in  prime  condition.  He  nodded  to  Eaton 
and  sat  down  in  the  chair  the  lawyer  pushed 
toward  him. 

"The  state  of  your  desk  fills  me  with  envy;  I 
never  get  mine  as  clean  as  that.  If  I  turn  my  back, 
somebody  throws  something  on  it." 

"Oh,  my  system  has  its  disadvantages;  strangers 
coming  in  think  I  have  n't  any  business.  You 
wanted  to  speak  about  those  notes?" 

"Yes;  they're  due  to-morrow  and  I'm  ready  to 
take  them  up.  Our  merchandise  bills  are  cleaned 
up,  and  my  personal  obligations  are  all  taken  care 
of.  Our  credit's  A  I.  The  White  River  National 
is  taking  good  care  of  us  and  they're  not  as  fussy 
as  the  Western  was." 

"The  Western  is  n't  a  bank,"  remarked  Eaton; 
"it's  a  pawnshop  with  a  third-degree  attachment. 
About  the  notes,"  he  continued,  tipping  himself 
back  in  his  chair  and  crossing  his  slender  legs, 
"you  don't  have  to  pay  them  to-morrow.  They 
can  be  carried  longer  —  indefinitely.  It's  just  as 
you  say,  however.  It  might  be  best  to  accept  an 
extension  of  three  or  six  months." 

329 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"No,  thanks!  I've  got  the  money  to  pay,  and 
you  may  be  dead  sure  it 's  a  comfortable  feeling  to 
know  I  've  got  it !  I  hope  I  '11  never  have  to  sweat  as 
I  did  for  a  year  or  two."  He  frowned,  and  slapped 
his  gloves  together.  "Look  here,  Eaton,  you  're  the 
hardest  man  to  thank  I  ever  saw,  but  for  God 's 
sake,  don't  ever  think  I  don't  appreciate  all  you  Ve 
done  for  me !  You  saved  me  —  hauled  me  out 
when  I  was  going  down  for  the  last  time!  I  don't 
know  why  you  did  it;  there  was  no  reason  why 
you  or  anybody  else  should  have  done  it." 

"  It 's  not  I  you  have  to  thank ;  it 's  an  enlightened 
judiciary  that  upheld  Kinney's  patents  on  Ivory 
Cement  machinery." 

"There  may  be  something  in  that,"  Copeland 
admitted,  "but  there  are  other  things  I  want  to 
speak  of.  I  insist  on  speaking  of  all  of  them.  In 
picking  up  that  Reynolds  stock  as  you  did  — ' 

"Please  stick  to  facts!  It  was  our  blithe  gazelle 
Amidon  who  did  that.  I  honestly  did  n't  know  it 
was  in  existence  till  he  came  to  me  about  it. 
Thank  Jerry!" 

"Thank  him !  I  'm  going  to  fire  him  if  he  does  n't 
quit  working  me  so  hard,"  laughed  Copeland. 
"But  you  backed  him,  and  advanced  him  the 
money.  The  way  that  boy  strolled  in  with  that 
certificate  just  as  Eichberg  was  jamming  me  into 
a  corner  is  the  last  thing  I  '11  think  of  when  I 
die." 

"Strong  sense  of  the  dramatic,  that  Jerry!" 
330 


COPELAND'S   UNKNOWN   BENEFACTOR 

observed  Eaton  musingly.  "Great  loss  to  the  stage, 
his  devotion  to  commerce." 

"He  can  sell  goods,  and  he  knows  how  to  hypno 
tize  other  fellows  into  doing  it.  I  'm  giving  him  all 
the  rope  he  wants.  He's  the  smartest  youngster 
on  the  street,  and  I'm  proud  of  him.  There's 
more  than  that;  I'm  going  to  tell  you,  because 
you've  been  mighty  good  to  me  and  I  want  you 
to  know  just  how  desperate  I  was  last  November. 
I  want  you  to  know  how  near  bottom  I  'd  gone. 
Eaton,  I  tried  to  burn  the  store  the  night  before 
the  Western  notes  came  due  —  and  I  'd  have  done 
it  —  I  'd  have  done  it"  if  Jerry  had  n't  stopped  me! 
-God!"  he  groaned.  His  frame  shook  with  re 
pulsion  and  abhorrence  and  he  turned  his  head  to 
avoid  Eaton's  eyes. 

"It's  a  good  thing,  Copeland,"  said  the  lawyer 
quietly,  "that  we're  not  allowed  to  be  as  bad  as 
we  want  to  be  in  this  world.  No  man  is  ever  that! 
That,  for  a  lack  of  a  better  word,  is  my  religion. 
Let's  go  back  to  the  notes.  You  say  you  prefer 
to  pay  them;  but  that's  wholly  optional.  It  had 
occurred  to  me  that  you  might  want  to  keep  the 
money  in  the  business,  and  if  you  do  it's  yours, 
quite  indefinitely." 

Copeland  shook  his  head  and  drew  out  a  check. 

"I  made  a  big  clean-up  on  my  Cement  stock 
and  now  that  I  'm  out  of  it  I  'm  never  going  to 
monkey  on  the  outside  again.  Here  you  are,  with 
interest!" 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

Eaton  read  the  check,  mentally  verified  the 
interest  and  opened  the  top  drawer  of  his  desk. 

"There  are  four  notes  of  twenty-five  thousand 
each,"  he  remarked,  as  he  bent  over  his  desk  and 
wrote  "Paid "  across  the  four  slips  of  paper.  "  They 
were  made  to  me  —  you  remember?  As  I  told  you 
at  the  time,  I  was  n't  making  the  advance  myself, 
and  I  deserve  no  thanks  for  negotiating  the  loan  - 
none  whatever.  You're  entitled  to  the  canceled 
notes,  of  course ;  but  perhaps  you  '11  be  satisfied  to 
let  me  destroy  them  here  in  your  presence.  The 
reason  for  that  is  that  I  endorsed  the  notes  to  the 
person  who  made  the  advance,  to  protect  your 
creditor  in  case  of  my  death.  That  person  is  very 
anxious  not  to  be  known  in  the  matter." 

"I  think  I  ought  to  know,"  Copeland  replied. 
"A  debt  like  that  can't  just  be  passed  over.  I'd 
be  more  comfortable  if  I  knew." 

"Perhaps-   "  began  Eaton. 

Copeland  shook  his  head  and  put  out  his  hand. 

Eaton  bent  a  quick,  penetrating  glance  upon 
him,  then  gave  him  the  notes.  Copeland 's  face 
went  white  as  he  read  the  endorsements. 

"Fanny!"  he  gasped  chokingly.  He  bent  for 
ward  and  grasped  Eaton's  arm.  "This  is  a  trick; 
a  ghastly  joke!  She  never  would  have  done  it;  no 
human  being  would  have  done  this  after  —  after— 

"No  human  being  —  no!"  replied  Eaton,  swing 
ing  round  in  his  chair  so  that  he  did  not  face 
Copeland  for  a  moment. 

332 


COPELAND'S   UNKNOWN   BENEFACTOR 

Copeland's  hand  shook  as  he  looked  again  at 
the  endorsements. 

"But,  Eaton,  you  had  no  right  to  do  it!  You 
knew  I  would  n't  have  taken  her  help  —  not  — 
after—" 

"No,  I  knew  you  would  n't.  And  she  knew  you 
would  n't.  That,  of  course,  is  why  she  did  it  in 
the  way  she  did." 

The  intentness  of  Copeland's  thought  showed  in 
his  face;  he  continued  to  turn  over  the  notes  in 
his  shaking  hands. 

"But  you  will  tell  her  how  beyond  any  thanks 
this  is  —  beyond  anything  I  can  do  or  say!"  He 
bent  his  head  and  went  on  brokenly.  "  It  would  be 
cruel,  Eaton,  if  it  were  n't  so  kind,  so  generous,  so 
merciful!" 

"I  think  you  have  done  enough  already  to  show 
your  appreciation,"  replied  Eaton.  "I'll  say  to 
you  that  you  've  done  what  she  expected  —  and 
what,  to  be  frank  about  it,  I  did  not  expect.  At 
least,  I  was  n't  very  sanguine.  You'd  gone  pretty 
far  —  farther  than  men  go  and  come  back  again. 
You've  proved  your  mettle.  If  you  go  on  as  you 
are,  you  are  safe.  And  I  'm  glad  —  happier  about 
it  than  I  Ve  been  about  anything  in  a  mighty  long 
time." 

"I  can't  understand  it.  I  was  worse  than  ever 
you  imagine.  I  treated  her  as  a  man  does  n't  treat 
his  dog!" 

"Yes,"  Eaton  acquiesced,  "  it  was  all  that." 

333 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"And  you  can  see  how  it  leaves  me,"  Copeland 
moaned,  crumpling  the  notes  in  his  hand,  —  "with 
a  debt  these  things  don't  express;  a  debt  that  can't 
be  discharged!" 

"There's  something  you  can  do,  Copeland,  if 
you  will.  She  has  n't  asked  it ;  I  have  no  reason  to 
think  it  has  even  occurred  to  her.  It 's  my  own  idea 
—  absolutely  —  I  want  you  to  be  sure  of  that.  It 
strikes  me  as  being  only  decent,  only  just." 

"Yes,  yes!"  Copeland  eagerly  assented. 

"I'm  going  to  speak  plainly,  Copeland.  It's 
about  Manning.  You  let  the  impression  get  abroad 
that  your  wife  had  given  you  cause  to  doubt  her 
loyalty.  Yes;  I  know  all  about  it.  Manning  was 
your  friend,  not  hers.  The  injury  was  not  only  to 
her;  it  was  to  that  man,  too.  Your  use  of  him,  to 
cast  suspicion  on  the  woman  you  had  sworn  to 
shield  and  protect,  was  infamous,  dastardly!  Man 
ning,  I  have  reason  to  believe,"  -  his  eyes  ranged 
the  file-cases,  —  "is  a  gentleman,  a  high-minded 
fellow,  who  admired  your  wife  only  as  any  friend 
might  be  expected  to  admire  her;  but  you  used 
him  - —  made  him  an  excuse  to  hide  your  own 
infamy.  You  had  n't  the  courage  to  bring  him  into 
court;  you  merely  let  some  of  your  new-found 
friends  whisper  insinuations  that  were  more  damn 
ing  than  a  direct  charge  of  infidelity.  Manning 
cut  your  acquaintance,  I  believe,  when  he  found 
what  you  had  done.  You  owe  him  an  apology,  at 
least.  And  if  you  want  to  act  the  part  of  a  man, 

334 


COPELAND'S   UNKNOWN   BENEFACTOR 

you  will  go  to  Mrs.  Copeland  and  tell  her  the 
truth." 

Eaton's  feelings  had  for  once  got  the  better  of 
him ;  several  times  his  voice  betrayed  deep  emotion. 
He  turned  toward  his  desk  as  the  buzzer  sounded 
a  cryptic  message.  He  telegraphed  a  reply,  and  a 
moment  later  the  sound  of  steps  in  the  corridor 
was  followed  by  the  closing  of  a  door. 

"I  will  do  it  —  I  will  do  it,"  said  Copeland. 
"As  I  began  to  get  my  bearings  again,  that  thing 
troubled  me;  it  has  been  in  my  mind  to  speak  to 
you  about  it.  God  knows,  I  want  to  make  repara 
tion  for  all  the  evil  I've  done.  I  was  a  brute,  a 
coarse  beast.  And  you're  right  that  Manning  is  a 
gentleman,  and  a  mighty  fine  fellow  —  he  never 
was  anything  else!  I'll  go  to  him  and  be  glad  to 
do  it.  But  to  see  Fanny  —  that  is  not  so  easy! 
You  can  understand  that,  Eaton.  I  must  have 
time  to  think  it  over." 

"I  think  it  best  for  you  to  see  Mrs.  Copeland 
first,"  replied  Eaton,  "then  Manning." 

Copeland,  pondering  with  knit  brows,  nodded 
a  reluctant  acquiescence. 

"Well,  I  will  do  as  you  say;  but  what  if  she'd 
refuse  to  see  me?  It's  going  to  be  mighty  hard," 
he  pleaded. 

"It's  conceivable  that  she'd  refuse,  of  course. 
She  never  meant  for  you  to  know  of  her  help,  and 
I've  broken  faith  in  telling  you;  but  I'll  take  the 
responsibility  of  sending  you  to  see  her.  And  I 

335 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

made  this  other  suggestion  —  about  Manning  — 
with  a  feeling  that  sooner  or  later  it  would  occur 
to  you.  I'm  glad  you've  met  me  in  this  spirit.  It 
confirms  my  impression  of  you  —  it  satisfies  me 
that  I  was  right  in  assuming  that  once  you  got 
back  in  the  straight  road  you  would  keep  to  it." 

"I'm  not  going  to  disappoint  you,  Eaton.  I 
don't  intend  to  be  pointed  to  as  a  failure  in  this 
community.  The  mistakes  I  've  made  have  been 
bad  ones  —  the  very  worst !  God  knows,  I  'm 
humble  enough  when  I  think  of  Fanny.  It  was 
like  her  to  want  to  save  me.  That 's  what  makes  it 
so  hard  —  that  it  was  like  her  to  do  it!" 

"Yes,"  said  Eaton  gravely;  "it  was  like  her." 

He  took  his  overcoat  from  a  closet  and  drew 
it  on,  mused  a  moment,  apparently  absorbed  in 
contemplation  of  the  interior  of  his  hat. 

"Mrs.  Copeland  is  here,  waiting  to  see  me.  She 
came  a  moment  ago  and  is  in  the  next  room.  She 
had  no  idea,  of  course,  that  you  were  likely  to  be 
here  —  rest  assured  of  that.  My  business  with  her 
is  not  so  important  as  yours.  Come!" 

Copeland,  startled,  irresolute,  followed  him  to 
the  door  of  a  smaller  room  used  for  consultations. 
Eaton  opened  it  and  stepped  back. 

"I  shall  be  dining  at  the  club  later,  if  you  care 
to  see  me,"  he  said,  and  vanished. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 
JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS 

JERRY,  who  had  never  been  ill  in  his  life,  was 
now  experiencing  disquieting  sensations  which  he 
was  convinced  pointed  to  an  early  and  probably 
a  painful  death.  He  went  about  his  work  listlessly, 
and  from  being  the  cheerfulest  person  in  Copeland- 
Farley,  he  became  so  melancholy  that  his  fellow 
employees  wondered  greatly  and  speculated  in  pri 
vate  as  to  the  cause  of  the  change.  Jerry  encour 
aged  the  thought  of  death  and  blithely  vizualized 
the  funeral  at  which  Eaton's  pastor  (chastely 
surpliced  and  reinforced  by  a  boy  choir)  would 
officiate.  He  chose  the  rector  of  Christ  Church 
because  that  gentleman  had  not  been  unmindful  of 
his  occasional  attendance  upon  services  (Jerry  had 
courageously  repeated  his  first  timid  visit),  and 
had  even  made  a  memorandum  of  Jerry's  name  and 
address,  with  a  view  to  calling  upon  him.  This  at 
tention  clearly  pointed  to  the  rector  as  the  minis 
ter  predestined  from  the  beginning  of  things  to 
officiate  at  his  funeral,  a  function  about  which  he 
meditated  much  in  a  spirit  of  loftiest  detachment. 

A  few  people  would  be  sorry  when  he  died,  but 
only  a  few.  The  boys  at  the  store  would  contribute 
a  wreath;  they  had  done  that  for  a  drayman  who 

337 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

had  succumbed  to  pneumonia  a  short  time  before; 
and  the  people  at  his  boarding-house  would  prob 
ably  grace  the  last  rites  with  their  presence.  Cope- 
land  would  probably  attend;  he  might  even  add 
dignity  to  the  occasion  by  acting  as  pallbearer. 
One  of  the  girl  stenographers,  whose  lachrymose 
facilities  had  occasionally  aroused  his  ire,  would 
doubtless  weep;  she  had  cried  when  the  drayman 
died,  though  her  acquaintance  with  that  person 
had  been  the  most  casual.  Nan  might  attend  the 
funeral,  but  he  hoped  to  time  his  passing  so  that 
the  funeral  could  be  held  on  a  market  morning, 
thus  giving  her  a  good  excuse  for  absenting  herself. 
It  would  be  a  sad,  pitiful  funeral,  with  only  a  hand 
ful  of  mourners,  as  his  only  living  relative  was  a 
cousin  in  Oklahoma  whose  exact  address  he  had 
forgotten.  The  brief  list  of  mourners  included  the 
billiard-marker  at  the  Whitcomb.  Jerry  had  once 
lent  him  five  dollars,  which  was  still  carried  as  an 
open  account  and  probably  a  permanent  one;  he 
meant  to  leave  a  memorandum  of  general  forgive 
ness,  including  a  release  of  the  billiard-marker 
from  any  obligation  to  pay  the  five  dollars.  And 
he  would  bequeath  him  his  best  cuff-buttons  to 
show  that  he  had  died  with  no  hard  feelings  against 
him.  The  thought  of  the  meager  attendance  and 
of  the  general  gloom  of  the  affair  gave  him  the 
keenest  satisfaction.  No  one  would  care  particu 
larly. 

Jerry's  malady  was  one  of  the  oldest  that  afflicts 
338 


JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS 

the  human  race.  Jerry  was  in  love ;  he  was  in  love 
with  Nan,  though  he  would  have  stormed  indig 
nantly  at  any  hint  of  this  bewildering  circumstance, 
this  blighting,  crushing  fact.  His  first  realization 
that  this  was  the  cause  of  his  trouble  fell  upon  him 
as  he  sat  one  evening  in  the  hotel  at  Madison  list 
lessly  talking  to  a  dry-goods  drummer.  Jerry  was 
taking  a  run  over  Copeland-Farley  territory  to 
"jolly"  the  trade,  carrying  no  samples  and  solicit 
ing  no  orders,  but  presenting  himself  as  the  personal 
representative  of  the  house,  bent  upon  strengthen 
ing  social  ties  only,  and  only  casually  glancing  over 
the  shelves  to  see  how  much  Copeland-Farley's 
competitors  were  selling.  The  dry-goods  man, 
noting  Jerry's  unwonted  gloom,  frankly  attributed 
it  to  a  love  affair;  and  to  find  that  his  condition 
was  perceptible  even  to  the  eye  of  a  dry-goods 
drummer,  for  whose  powers  of  discernment  he  had 
only  the  mildest  respect,  added  considerably  to 
Jerry's  melancholy. 

Nan  was  not  for  him;  he  knew  this;  there  had 
never  been  any  doubt  in  his  mind  that  Eaton  and 
Nan  would  marry  ultimately.  Any  speculations  as 
to  his  own  part  in  Nan's  life,  beyond  the  boy-and- 
girl  comradeship  he  had  been  enjoying,  were  vain 
and  foolish ;  they  were  even  disloyal  to  Eaton ;  they 
wrere  an  insult  to  Nan.  Nan  had  intimated  several 
times  that  Eaton  was  in  love  with  Mrs.  Copeland, 
but  now  that  the  black  clouds  had  risen  on  his  own 
horizon,  Jerry  knew  the  absurdity  of  this.  Eaton 

339 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

had  appeared  unusually  absent-minded  of  late,  and 
this  marked  his  friend  as  a  man  in  the  toils  of 
love.  Jerry  knew  the  symptoms!  Except  for  a 
passing  attachment  for  a  stenographer  in  a  hard 
ware  house,  who  had  jilted  him  for  a  red-haired 
bookkeeper,  Jerry  had  never  been  in  love.  He  had 
grieved  over  the  hardware  girl's  perfidy  for  two, 
perhaps  three,  days.  But  this  was  the  real  thing 
and  a  very  different  matter;  he  meant  to  win  the 
martyr's  wreath  by  going  to  his  death  so  heroically 
that  no  one  would  ever  know  how  he  had  suffered. 

Returning  to  town  Saturday  evening  he  checked 
his  grip  at  a  hotel  and  went  to  the  theater,  not  for 
pleasure,  but  to  lose  himself  among  strangers  and 
enjoy  his  misery.  As  he  moodily  surveyed  the  as 
sembling  audience  a  cold  hand  gripped  his  heart. 
Eaton,  followed  by  Mrs.  Copeland,  Nan,  and  a 
lady  he  did  not  know,  filed  down  to  the  second  row 
where  Eaton  always  sat. 

Since  Farley's  death  Nan  had  attended  no  enter 
tainments  of  any  kind;  she  had  refused  to  accom 
pany  Jerry  to  a  concert  only  a  fortnight  earlier. 
Her  presence  at  the  theater  with  Eaton  confirmed 
his  worst  suspicions.  Their  engagement  would 
doubtless  be  announced  in  a  day  or  two;  he  must 
steel  himself  against  this  and  prepare  to  offer  his 
congratulations.  The  comedy  presented  was  one 
of  the  hits  of  the  season,  but  its  best  lines  and  most 
amusing  situations  failed  to  evoke  a  smile  from 
Jerry,  who  clutched  his  programme  and  stared  at 

340 


JERRY'S   DARK  DAYS 

the  back  of  Nan's  head.  Nan  was  enjoying  herself; 
from  his  seat  on  the  back  row  he  was  satisfied  of 
that,  and  he  assured  himself  that  he  was  glad  of 
her  happiness.  At  the  end  of  the  second  act,  he 
left  and  went  to  his  room  to  spend  a  wretched 
night. 

Jerry  found  on  his  desk  Monday  morning  a  note 
from  Eaton,  written  several  days  earlier,  asking 
him  to  join  his  theater  party  and  go  to  the  club 
later  for  supper.  His  sister  had  come  down  from 
Cleveland  to  make  him  a  visit,  Eaton  explained, 
and  he  wanted  Jerry  to  meet  her.  For  an  instant 
the  world  was  the  pleasant,  cheerful  place  it  had 
been  in  the  old  days  before  love  darkened  his  life. 
Eaton  was  still  his  friend;  but  only  for  a  moment 
was  the  veil  lifted.  The  clouds  settled  upon  him 
again,  as  he  grasped  the  motive  behind  Eaton's 
friendly  note  —  as  though  at  any  time  in  their 
intercourse  there  had  been  the  ghost  of  a  motive 
back  of  anything  John  Cecil  Eaton  had  ever  done 
for  him  except  a  perfectly  transparent,  generous 
wish  to  be  kind  to  him!  But  the  coming  of  the 
sister  (who  had  never,  so  far  as  Jerry  knew,  visited 
Eaton  before)  could  only  mean  that  Eaton  wished 
to  introduce  Nan  to  her  as  a  prospective  member 
of  the  family.  And,  proud  of  his  logic,  Jerry  rea 
soned  that  he  was  to  have  been  given  an  oppor 
tunity  to  offer  his  own  congratulations. 

For  a  week  Jerry  kept  away  from  the  market- 
house;  Nan  knew  he  had  been  out  of  town,  and, 

34i 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

failing  to  see  him,  would  assume  that  he  was  still 
away.  He  could  not  face  her;  it  would  be  a  merciful 
thing  if  he  never  saw  her  again.  Eaton  he  would 
avoid;  his  friend  must  never  know  of  his  hopeless 
passion.  Nan  and  Eaton  must  begin  their  married 
life  wholly  ignorant  that  he  had  ever  looked  upon 
Nan  as  anything  more  than  a  good  friend.  Phrases 
out  of  novels  he  had  read  assisted  him  in  the  defini 
tion  of  his  attitude  toward  her  and  Eaton.  "Un 
worthy  of  the  woman  he  loved,"  and  "climbed 
slowly,  painfully,  to  the  sublime  heights  of  a  great 
renunciation."  He  was  unworthy;  he  had  known 
that  all  along;  and  he  would  give  her  up  to  his 
best  friend  with  a  beautiful  magnanimity.  The 
fiction  with  which  he  was  familiar  had  not  lacked  in 
noble  examples  of  just  such  splendid  sacrifice.  If 
death  failed  to  end  his  misery,  he  would  live  on, 
sadly,  but  manfully,  and  on  every  anniversary  of 
their  meeting  on  the  river  bank,  he  would  send 
her  a  rose  —  a  single  beautiful  rose  —  always  ex 
actly  the  same,  and  it  would  puzzle  her  greatly 
and  make  her  wonder;  but  she  would  never  guess 
that  it  was  from  one  who  had  loved  her  in  the 
long  ago. 

He  had  made  no  sign  to  Eaton,  not  even  to  ac 
knowledge  the  theater  invitation;  and  when  one 
day  he  ran  into  the  lawyer  in  the  bank  lobby  he 
was  about  to  pass  him  hurriedly  when  the  familiar 
"Ah,  Jerry!"  arrested  him.  He  swallowed  hard; 
it  was  not  easy  to  meet  his  friend  with  the  air  of 

342 


JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS 

sweet  resignation  and  submission  to  inexorable 
fate  that  he  had  been  cultivating. 

"An  overdraft?"  Eaton  suggested  in  his  usual 
tone.  "Nothing  else  could  account  for  your  woe 
ful  countenance!  I  did  n't  know  you  were  in  town. 
Just  in,  I  suppose,  from  a  flight  into  the  remoter 
recesses  of  the  Commonwealth." 

"Well,  I've  been  back  a  few  days,"  Jerry  con 
fessed  reluctantly;  "but  I've  been  too  busy  to 
come  around.  I  meant  to  call  you  up  about  that 
invitation;  I  did  n't  get  it  until  after  the  show." 

"We  missed  you;  I  had  wanted  you  to  meet  my 
sister.  In  fact,  I  'd  rather  prepared  her  for  the 
meeting  —  led  up  to  it,  warned  her  of  your  native 
flavor.  She 's  still  with  me.  You  're  working  your 
self  to  death;  it's  in  your  eye.  Can't  you  come  up 
Tuesday  night  and  dine  with  us?  I'll  see  if  we 
can't  get  Mrs.  Copeland  and  Nan  to  come  in. 
They've  been  seeing  something  of  Florence. 
You  've  seen  Nan  — ' 

"No;  I  have  n't  seen  her,"  Jerry  replied,  a  little 
resentfully,  as  though  Eaton  ought  to  know  why 
Nan  had  become  invisible  so  far  as  Jeremiah 
Amidon  was  concerned. 

"She's  another  victim  of  overwork,"  Eaton  re 
marked  carelessly,  but  behind  his  glasses  there  was 
a  gleam  of  humor.  "Not  quarreling,  I  hope?  I 
confess  that  at  times  Nan  is  a  trifle  provoking,  but 
she  means  nothing  by  it.  You  must  give  the  benefit 
of  all  doubts  to  a  girl  who  is  just  emerging  from  a 

343 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

severe  ordeal  —  settling  herself  into  a  new  manner 
of  life.  It's  wonderful;  really  amazing  how  she's 
coming  on.  We  shall  be  dining  at  seven.  Please 
don't  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  explain  a  second 
scorning  of  my  hospitality  to  my  sister.  She  'd  be 
gin  to  think  you  a  myth,  like  Jupiter  and  the  rest 
of  the  immortals." 

"Thanks;  I'll  be  there,"  Jerry  answered  sol 
emnly.  Then  he  watched  Eaton's  retreating  figure 
shame-facedly.  He  was  acting  abominably  toward 
Eaton. 

The  Pembrokes  had  gone  to  Florida  for  the  spring 
months,  and  Eaton  had  taken  their  house  that  he 
might  indulge  in  a  round  of  dinners  and  a  ball  that 
proved  to  be  the  season's  smartest  event.  These 
social  activities  Jerry  had  taken  as  another  sign  of 
Eaton's  approaching  marriage.  And  Jerry  had  re 
sented,  as  an  attack  upon  his  personal  rights, 
Eaton's  transfer  from  the  rooms  where  he  had 
always  been  so  accessible,  to  the  big  house  where 
visitors  were  received  by  the  Pembrokes'  butler  — 
a  formidable  person  who,  he  fancied,  regarded  him 
with  a  hostile  eye. 

Jerry  presented  himself  at  the  hour  appointed, 
wearing  the  crown  of  his  martyrdom,  which,  if  he 
had  known  it,  was  highly  unbecoming.  As  he  had 
walked  around  the  block  twice  to  prepare  himself 
for  the  ordeal,  he  was  late,  and  stood  uncomfortably 
in  the  drawing-room  door,  quite  unnoticed,  while 
the  sister  (whose  back  he  distrusted)  finished  a 

344 


JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS 

story  she  had  been  telling.  But  spying  him,  Eaton 
rose  and  greeted  him  cordially. 

"Florence,  Mr.  Amidon;  my  sister,  Mrs.  Tor- 
rington,  Jerry." 

Mrs.  Torrington,  a  tall,  dark  woman  in  her  early 
thirties,  graciously  assured  him  that  she  had  de 
layed  her  departure  from  town  until  he  could  be 
produced  for  her  edification. 

"I  guess  you  would  n't  'a'  missed  much,"  said 
Jerry,  hating  himself  at  once  for  that  unnecessary 
a,  from  which  he  had  honestly  believed  himself 
permanently  emancipated.  He  shook  hands  with 
Mrs.  Copeland  and  then  with  Nan  —  without 
looking  at  her.  The  butler  announced  dinner,  and 
he  found  himself  moving  toward  the  dining-room 
beside  Mrs.  Torrington.  In  her  ignorance  of  the 
darkness  in  which  he  had  immersed  himself,  she 
treated  him  quite  as  though  they  were  in  the  habit 
of  meeting  at  dinners.  It  was  to  his  credit  that  he 
saw  at  once  that  she  was  a  superior  person,  though 
he  did  not  know  until  later  that,  as  the  wife  of  a 
distinguished  engineer,  she  was  known  in  many 
capitals  as  a  brilliant  conversationalist,  with  a  repu 
tation  for  meeting  difficult  situations.  On  the  way 
down  the  hall  she  spoke  of  Russia  —  she  had  been 
telling  a  Russian  story  at  the  moment  of  his 
appearance  —  and  her  manner  expressed  a  flatter 
ing  assumption  that  he,  of  course,  was  quite 
familiar  with  the  social  life  of  the  Russian  cap 
ital. 

345 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

It  was  the  most  informal  of  dinners;  Jerry  found 
himself  placed  between  Mrs.  Torrington  and  Mrs. 
Copeland,  which  left  Nan  at  Eaton's  right.  This 
arrangement  had  not  been  premeditated,  but  he 
saw  only  the  darkest  significance  in  Nan's  juxta 
position  to  Eaton.  She  seemed  unwontedly  sub 
dued,  and  averted  her  eyes  when  their  gaze  met. 

"This  is  the  nicest  party  you've  had  for  me, 
Cecil,"  Mrs.  Torrington  was  saying,  -  "cozy  and 
comfortable  so  everybody  can  talk." 

Jerry  hoped  they  would  talk!  (He  was  watching 
Mrs.  Torrington  guardedly  to  see  which  fork  she 
chose  for  her  caviar.)  Eaton  was  unusually  grave; 
Mrs.  Copeland  seemed  preoccupied;  Jerry's  heart 
ached  at  the  near  presence  of  Nan.  But  at  a  hint 
from  Fanny,  Mrs.  Torrington  returned  to  her  ex 
periences  abroad,  and  soon  had  them  all  interested 
and  amused.  Jerry  quickly  fell  victim  to  her  charm ; 
he  had  never  before  met  a  woman  of  her  distinction 
and  poise.  Even  her  way  of  speaking  was  different 
from  anything  he  had  been  accustomed  to  —  crisp, 
fluent,  musical.  Her  good  humor  was  infectious 
and  she  quickly  won  them  all  to  self-forgetfulness. 
Mrs.  Copeland  described  an  encounter  she  had 
witnessed  between  a  Russian  and  a  Frenchman  in 
a  Roman  pension  where  she  had  once  spent  a 
winter  —  an  incident  that  culminated  in  a  hasty 
exchange  of  wine-glasses  across  the  table. 

"Ah,  Jerry,"  remarked  Eaton  casually;  "that 
leads  us  naturally  to  your  pleasing  adventures 

346 


JERRY'S   DARK  DAYS 

down  the  road.  Florence,  if  you  urge  Mr.  Amidon 
he  will  tell  you  of  most  amazing  experiences  he  has 
had  right  here  at  home  in  the  pursuit  of  food." 

Mrs.  Torrington's  fine  eyes  emphasized  her  ap 
peal.  They  would  all  tell  of  the  worst  food  they 
had  ever  eaten,  she  said;  she  had  spent  years  col 
lecting  information. 

"You  may  lapse  into  the  vernacular,  Jerry," 
Eaton  added  encouragingly;  "we  will  all  under 
stand  that  you  are  falling  into  it  merely  in  a  spirit 
of  realism." 

"This  is  tough,"  said  Jerry,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Torrington.  "Your  brother  has  told  me  a  hundred 
times  to  cut  out  those  stories." 

"That  was  only  after  he  had  heard  them  all! 
And  he  has  been  boasting  that  he  could  persuade 
you  to  tell  them  to  me.  Please !  I  want  to  add  them 
to  my  collection." 

"Well,  you  understand  this  isn't  my  fault  - 
he  began.  .  .  . 

They  were  still  demanding  more  stories  after 
the  dessert  plates  had  been  removed.  He  had  so 
far  yielded  to  their  friendliness  that  he  appealed 
occasionally  to  Nan,  and  finally  asked  her  to  tell 
one  of  Farley's  stories  about  the  river,  which  he 
said  he  had  forgotten.  They  remained  at  table  for 
their  coffee  to  avoid  disturbing  the  good  cheer  that 
now  prevailed. 

"  Mr.  Amidon  is  up  to  my  highest  expectations," 
Mrs.  Torrington  remarked  when  they  rose.  "I'll 

347 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

stay  another  week   if  you'll  give  just  this  same 
party  again!" 

"We've  missed  you  at  the  farm,"  said  Mrs. 
Copeland,  as  Jerry  seated  himself  beside  her  in  the 
library.  "And  I  was  just  beginning  to  feel  that 
we  were  acquainted !  But,  of  course,  you  Ve  been 
away.  I  heard  that  from  Mr.  Copeland." 

As  she  mentioned  Copeland,  she  smiled  gravely. 

"Well,  I  have  been  away,  and  we're  busier  than 
usual  just  now,"  he  replied,  realizing  that  some 
thing  had  happened  in  her  relations  with  Copeland 
to  make  possible  this  careless  reference  to  him. 
"  I  guess  Mr.  Copeland  is  working  harder  than  any 
of  us,"  he  added  warmly. 

"Oh,  we're  all  happier  when  we're  busy,"  she 
said  lightly. 

"Not  smoking,  Jerry?"  asked  Eaton,  proffering 
cigars. 

"I've  quit,"  Jerry  replied,  remembering  that  he 
had  given  up  smoking  in  his  general  abandonment 
of  the  joys  of  life. 

Mrs.  Copeland  left  him,  making  it  necessary  for 
him  to  join  Nan,  who  had  moved  a  little  away  from 
the  circle  they  had  formed  before  the  fireplace. 

"It's  too  bad  you  don't  tell  your  friends  about 
your  troubles,"  she  remarked  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "So  many  things  have  happened  that  you 
ought  to  be  very  cheerful." 

"  I  have  n't  been  feeling  very  well,"  he  answered 
doggedly. 

348 


JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS 

"You  do  look  utterly  fagged  out,"  she  retorted. 
"But  if  I  were  you  I  would  n't  cut  all  my  friends." 

"I  have  n't  cut  anybody,"  he  replied.  "I  guess 
I  know  when  to  drop  out.  I  want  everybody  to  be 
happy,"  he  said  plaintively,  feeling  his  martyr's 
crown  pinching  his  brow. 

"That's  very  sweet  of  you,  Jerry.  The  police 
man  at  the  market  asked  Saturday  what  had 
become  of  you.  Your  absence  seems  to  have 
occasioned  remark,  though  I  had  n't  noticed  it 
myself." 

"I  did  n't  suppose  you  would,"  he  said,  with  an 
effort  at  bitterness  that  was  so  tame  that  she 
laughed. 

"Of  course,  if  you've  lost  interest,  it's  all  right. 
I  never  meant  to  bore  you.  And  I  'm  not  complain 
ing.  But  you  have  n't  been  kind  to  Mr.  Eaton. 
I  suppose  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  he 's  taken 
a  good  deal  of  pains  to  be  nice  to  you.  And  just 
now,  just  now,"  -she  added,  lowering  her  voice, 
-  "we  should  all  be  as  good  to  him  as  we  can." 

He  frowned  at  this.  If  she  and  Eaton  were  in 
love  with  each  other,  he  saw  no  good  reason  why 
he  should  be  sorry  for  either  of  them. 

"  If  I  had  a  chance  I  could  tell  you  some  things," 
Nan  continued,  "but  I  suppose  it's  just  as  well  to 
let  you  read  about  them  in  the  papers." 

His  spirits  sank ;  he  had  been  scanning  the  society 
columns  daily  expecting  to  see  the  announcement 
of  her  engagement. 

349 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"When  I'm  an  old,  old  woman  and  living  all 
alone  with  my  chickens  somewhere,  I  suppose  you 
may  come  to  see  me  again  and  tell  me  about  your 
troubles." 

"I  won't,"  he  replied  with  a  smile  he  meant  to 
be  grim,  "because  I'll  be  dead." 

She  regarded  him  with  knit  brows,  puzzled, 
slightly  disdainful. 

"Just  when  things  were  a  little  hard  for  me,  and 
I  have  been  much  troubled  because  one  of  the  kind 
est  friends  either  of  us  ever  had  or  could  have  — 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently,  and 
rebuke  and  indignation  were  mingled  in  the  glance 
she  bent  upon  him. 

"I  guess  we're  not  talking  about  the  same 
thing,"  he  said  huskily.  "You  know  I  mean  to  do 
the  square  thing,  Nan." 

He  was  so  pathetic  that  she  changed  her  tone, 
sorry  that  she  had  been  so  hard  on  him. 

"  I  think  you  do  —  usually,  Jerry." 

"And  I'll  be  out  to-morrow  night  if  you're 
going  to  be  at  home,"  he  suggested  timidly,  her 
reproach  still  upon  him. 

"Well,  if  you're  not  too  tired,  or  ill,  or  anything, 
and  can't  think  of  anything  else  to  do,  come  along," 
she  said. 

Mrs.  Copeland  called  to  Nan  that  it  was  time  to 
go.  They  had  come  in  on  the  interurban,  but  Eaton 
announced  his  intention  of  taking  them  home  in 
the  Pembroke  car. 

350 


JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS 

"There's  no  use  of  my  living  in  all  this  bor 
rowed  splendor  unless  I  use  it.  Jerry,  please  keep 
the  fire  burning  till  I  get  back." 

Nan's  smile  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  conveyed 
an  apology  for  her  harshness  and  sent  his  spirits 
soaring. 

"I  hope,"  remarked  Mrs.  Torrington,  as  they 
heard  the  car  leave  the  door,  "that  you  know  how 
fond  my  brother  is  of  you.  You've  been  a  great 
resource  to  him;  he's  mentioned  you  often  in  his 
letters.  You  know  Cecil  and  I  are  very  close, 
unusually  so;  and  it  breaks  my  heart  to  see  him  - 
She  waved  her  hand  with  a  gesture  that  expressed 
the  futility  of  explanations. 

She  was  taking  him  for  granted  as  her  brother's 
friend,  not  a  mere  beneficiary  of  his  big-heartedness. 
He  was  aware  of  something  spacious  in  her  nature ; 
she  would  brush  little  things  away  with  a  sweep  of 
her  eloquent  hands.  A  wonderful  woman  was  John 
Cecil's  sister.  She  was  addressing  him  as  though 
he  were  a  gentleman,  a  man  of  her  own  world, 
instead  of  the  miserable  ingrate  he  knew  himself 
to  be. 

"She's  lovely,  quite  adorable,"  Mrs.  Torrington 
continued,  as  though  speaking  of  matters  they  had 
often  discussed  before.  "I'll  say  quite  frankly 
that  I  'd  been  afraid  to  meet  her  after  what  he  had 
written." 

Jerry  sat  silent,  wondering.  Nan  had  left  him 
mystified.  He  did  not  know  what  Eaton's  sister 

351 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

was  talking  about  unless  it  was  his  love  for  Nan. 

"I  shall  be  leaving  in  a  few  days;  my  husband's 
business  calls  him  to  China.  I  want  you  to  keep  an 
eye  on  Cecil;  don't  let  him  be  alone  too  much,"  she 
went  on.  "A  man  with  a  sorrow  like  that  in  his 
heart  ought  n't  to  be  alone.  I  came  here  on  pur 
pose  to  see  just  how  the  land  lay;  I  suppose  you 
understand  that." 

He  muttered  incoherently,  touched  by  her  as 
sumption  of  his  sympathy,  her  direct,  intimate 
appeal. 

''I  felt  that  I  could  speak  to  you  quite  frankly," 
Mrs.  Torrington  continued.  "No  one  else  seemed 
quite  so  accessible,  no  one  really  quite  so  close  to 
him." 

"Of  course,  he  has  a  lot  of  friends,"  said  Jerry 
humbly,  and  anxious  to  respond  to  the  demand  this 
fascinating  woman  was  making  upon  his  generosity. 

"She's  going  back  to  her  husband;  of  course 
you  know  that." 

There  was  a  degree  of  indignation  in  her  tone, 
as  though  the  person  of  whom  she  spoke  was  doing 
an  unpardonable  thing. 

Jerry  felt  himself  shrinking;  his  hands  clutched 
the  arms  of  his  chair  as  it  dawned  upon  him  that 
it  was  Mrs.  Copeland  —  not  Nan  —  of  whom 
Eaton's  sister  was  speaking.  He  was  struck  with 
fear  lest  she  should  read  his  thoughts  as  he  realized 
how  dull,  how  utterly  selfish  and  contemptible,  had 
been  his  apprehensions. 

352 


JERRY'S  DARK  DAYS 

"I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Torrington,  "that  a  man 
as  fine  as  Cecil  is  doomed  to  just  this  kind  of 
calamity." 

"  I  thought  maybe  it  would  be  Nan,"  he  faltered. 
"  I  know  he  likes  Nan,  and  he 's  done  a  lot  for  her." 

Mrs.  Torrington  had  been  staring  musingly  into 
the  fire.  She  turned  toward  him  absently,  and 
then,  catching  his  meaning,  her  eyes  widened  with 
surprise. 

"Nan,"  she  repeated  slowly;  and  then,  in  her 
usual  brisk  tone,  "A  man  like  Cecil  can't  be  passed 
on  from  one  affair  to  another  so  easily.  And,  be 
sides,"  -she  smiled  her  charming,  irresistible 
smile,  — "that  child  is  in  love  with  you,  you  silly 
boy!  It's  in  her  eyes!  That's  the  one  hopeful 
thing  about  the  situation  —  that  together  you  two 
will  take  good  care  of  him!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
"JUST  HELPING;  JUST  BEING  KIND!" 

NAN  crossed  a  pasture,  whistling.  The  Hoi- 
steins,  nibbling  the  young  grass,  lifted  their  heads 
and  bent  their  slow,  meditative  gaze  upon  her. 
She  paused  to  pat  one  of  them  on  the  nose.  Nan 
was  growing  wise  in  dairy  lore  and  knew  at  sight 
the  heaviest  producers  of  the  herd.  She  resumed 
her  whistling  and  went  on  toward  the  house,  with 
a  pair  of  robins  hopping  before  her.  June  had  come 
and  summer  sounds  and  scents  filled  the  air. 

As  she  neared  the  bungalow  a  motor  swept 
into  the  driveway  and  discharged  Eaton  and 
Thurston. 

"A  child  of  the  pastures!  The  daughter  of  Cin- 
cinnatus  tripping  in  from  the  fields!"  observed 
Eaton,  as  he  shook  hands. 

' '  Just  been  tinkering  an  incubator,  if  you  want  the 
facts  —  counting  chickens  before  they're  hatched," 
laughed  Nan,  brushing  a  straw  from  her  skirt. 

"We  have  a  small  business  matter  to  discuss 
with  you,  Nan.  We'll  fall  upon  it  at  once  if  you  're 
agreeable." 

"Business!"  Nan  mocked.  "I  hoped  you'd 
come  to  look  at  the  dairy." 

This  was  a  very  different  Nan,  Eaton  reflected, 

354 


"JUST  HELPING;  JUST  BEING  KIND!" 

from  the  Nan  of  a  year  ago.  Exposure  to  wind  and 
sun  had  already  given  her  a  becoming  tan.  Her  old 
listlessness,  the  defiant  air  she  had  sometimes  worn, 
had  vanished;  she  had  become  alert,  self-reliant, 
resolute.  Within  the  bounds  of  her  self-respect  she 
meant  that  the  world  should  like  her.  A  democratic 
young  person  —  this  new  Nan,  on  good  terms  with 
truck  farmers,  humble  drivers  of  grocers'  wagons, 
motormen,  and  market-house  policemen.  In  her 
short  skirt  and  plain  blue  blouse,  she  looked  less 
than  her  years  to-day. 

"We  can  sit  on  the  veranda  if  you  gentlemen  are 
not  afraid  of  the  country  air." 

"I  wouldn't  dare  go  in  after  that,"  remarked 
Thurston  dryly;  "Eaton  already  refers  to  me  as 
his  learned  senior." 

"Mr.  Eaton  is  the  youngest  and  the  oldest  man 
in  the  world!"  Nan  declared. 

"Well,  Miss  Farley,"  Thurston  began,  as  they 
gathered  about  a  wicker  table  and  he  drew  a  for 
midable  bundle  of  papers  from  a  leathern  pouch, 
"as  we  telephoned  you  yesterday,  the  opposition 
of  Mr.  Farley's  relatives  has  been  disposed  of  and 
your  adoption  was  upheld  by  the  court.  To  pre 
vent  an  appeal,  and  get  rid  of  them  for  good,  we've 
agreed  on  your  behalf  to  pay  the  two  cousins  ten 
thousand  dollars  apiece.  Mr.  Eaton  would  have 
preferred  to  fight  it  clear  through,  but  I  prevailed 
on  him  not  to  make  Brother  Harlowe  work  too 
hard.  You  may  not  know  it,  but  Eaton  is  a  re- 

355 


THE  PROOF   OF  THE  PUDDING 

markably  belligerent  person.  There's  no  compro 
mise  in  him.  He'd  fight  to  the  last  ditch." 

He  looked  from  Eaton  to  Nan  over  his  glasses 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"I  never  saw  a  fellow  I  wanted  to  smash  as 
badly  as  I  do  Harlowe,"  Eaton  remarked.  "He's 
the  smoothest  rascal  I've  ever  known." 

"I  don't  see  that  you've  been  very  generous," 
said  Nan.  "  How  much  will  he  get  as  a  fee?" 

"About  nine  tenths  of  the  twenty  thousand," 
replied  Thurston  grimly. 

"Rather  less  than  that,"  said  Eaton,  with  one 
of  his  elusive  smiles.  "I  started  the  secretary  of 
the  White  River  Trust  Company  down  to  see  the 
esteemed  cousins  before  we  signed  the  agreement; 
told  him  to  persuade  them  to  confide  their  ill- 
gotten  gains  to  the  company  and  advised  them  to 
cut  off  Harlowe  with  a  niggardly  ten  per  cent  for 
his  services.  I  was  afraid  to  tell  you  that,  Thurston. 
I  knew  you  would  scold  me." 

"Eaton,  for  combined  ingenuity  and  malevo 
lence,  you  have  n't  an  equal!"  declared  Thurston, 
chuckling. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  cried  Nan,  glad  that  the 
interview  was  progressing  so  cheerfully. 

"Now,  Miss  Farley,"  Thurston  resumed,  "if 
there 's  anything  a  lawyer  does  n't  like,  it 's  an 
ungrateful  client.  Mr.  Eaton  and  I  have  a  sneak 
ing  feeling  that  we've  done  pretty  well  with  this 
case.  The  credit  is  chiefly  his  —  and  I  take  off 

356 


"JUST  HELPING;  JUST  BEING   KIND!" 

my  hat  to  him.  We've  come  here  in  the  hope  that 
we  shan't  have  to  argue  with  you,  but  just  tell  you. 
Your  scruples  against  accepting  any  share  in  Mr. 
Farley's  estate,  expressed  after  his  death,  did  you 
credit  —  in  a  way.  But  now  it's  all  yours;  there's 
no  escape.  A  considerable  amount  of  income  has 
already  accumulated,  and  we  can  arrange  pay 
ments  necessary  for  your  support  to  begin  at  once, 
though  the  estate  can't  be  closed  till  the  year  of 
administration  is  up.  So  far  as  your  ability  to 
earn  your  own  living  is  concerned,  you  have  demon 
strated  that.  You  have  shown  a  plucky  spirit,  and 
I  admire  it.  I  will  go  further,  and  say  that  the 
community  has  supported  you  strongly,  and  that 
your  attitude  has  made  many  friends  for  you. 
But  now  —  now,  we  must  have  no  more  of  this 
nonsense!" 

He  waved  his  hand  to  indicate  the  fields,  and 
glanced  meaningfully  at  Nan's  heavy  walking- 
shoes,  which  were  disgracefully  muddy. 

"But  that  was  settled  —  once  and  for  all!"  Nan 
replied  firmly.  "You  must  n't  think  me  ungrateful 
for  what  you've  done;  but  I  thought  that  all  out 
before  I  came  here,  and  I  have  n't  had  a  single 
regret.  If  it  is  n't  impolite,  I  '11  say  that  all  I  want 
is  to  be  let  alone!" 

"Thurston  and  I  are  not  sentimentalists,"  said 
Eaton.  "We've  given  you  free  rein  to  indulge 
your  whims ;  but  now  we  've  come  to  a  point  where 
we've  got  to  take  a  hand." 

357 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"But  you  can't  make  me,  if  I  won't!"  laughed 
Nan.  "Just  think  how  humiliating  it  would  be  to 
back  down  now  after  I  said  I  would  n't!  Worse 
than  that,  think  of  the  effect  on  these  girls  we  have 
at  work  here;  they'd  lose  their  respect  for  me  if 
they  found  I  was  n't  really  as  poor  as  they  are !  And 
there  are  other  reasons,  too,"  she  went  on  soberly. 
"I  don't  like  to  go  over  this  again,  but  I  never 
deserved  anything  of  the  Parleys.  I  Ve  got  my 
conscience  to  live  with,  and  I  could  never  get  on 
with  it  if  I  allowed  myself  to  take  money  which 
papa  knew  it  was  best  for  me  not  to  have.  I  'm 
serious  about  this.  He  knew  me  better  than  I  knew 
myself.  You  understand  what  I  mean  — 

"I  don't  understand  it  in  the  way  you  mean, 
Nan,"  Eaton  answered;  "but  let's  not  argue  it. 
Let's  be  practical.  Has  it  occurred  to  you  that 
something  has  to  be  done  with  this  property?  The 
lawful  heir  can't  just  walk  off  and  leave  an  estate 
like  this.  It  will  be  confiscated  by  the  State  — 
thrown  into  the  treasury  and  spent  by  a  lot  of 
politicians  if  you  refuse  it.  Take  the  money  and 
buy  a  lot  of  farms  with  it  or  spend  it  on  working 
girls  as  much  as  you  like  —  but  please  don't  talk 
any  more  about  refusing  it." 

Eaton  had  spoken  lightly,  but  she  saw  that  he 
was  very  much  in  earnest.  The  contingency  he 
suggested  had  not,  in  fact,  occurred  to  her.  She 
had  assumed  from  the  beginning  that  the  adoption 
would  be  nullified  and  that  Farley's  money  would 

358 


"JUST  HELPING;  JUST  BEING   KIND!" 

be  divided  among  the  obscure  and  shadowy  cousins; 
and  this  abrupt  termination  of  the  case  brought 
her  face  to  face  with  an  unforeseen  situation. 
Thurston  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of  her 
silence. 

"You  have  to  consider,  Miss  Farley,  what  your 
foster  father's  feelings  would  be.  He  was  a  just  man, 
and  all  the  wills  he  considered  from  time  to  time 
prove  that  he  never  had  the  slightest  intention  of 
disinheriting  you.  Even  in  the  last  will  creating  the 
trusteeship,  he  made  you  his  sole  heir;  it  was  really 
the  most  generous  of  all!  Oh,  yes,"  he  exclaimed 
hastily,  as  Nan  colored  deeply,  "  there  was,  I  sup 
pose,  a  certain  bitterness  behind  that.  I  want  to  say 
to  you  again  that  I  did  my  best  to  dissuade  him 
from  that  step.  I  was  confident  he  would  change 
his  mind  about  it,  as  he  had  about  so  many  other 
things  in  his  varying  moods  and  tempers;  and  that 
he  would  realize  its  unkind  ness.  We  have  no  right 
to  assume  that  when  he  hid  that  will  behind  his 
wife's  picture,  he  had  any  intention  of  executing 
it.  It's  an  open  question  and  it's  only  fair  to  give 
him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

"That's  true  enough,"  Nan  assented;  "but 
when  I  read  that  will  and  found  how  bitter  he  had 
been,  I  knew  I  had  done  the  right  thing  in  refusing 
to  take  anything!" 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Thurston  continued 
patiently.  "You  must  be  just;  you  must  remember 
that  that  was  the  act  of  a  man  near  his  death  - 

359 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

nearer  than  any  of  us  imagined.  He  did  n't  have 
a  chance  to  change  his  mind  again.  It's  unjust  to 
his  memory  to  leave  him  in  the  wrong  utterly,  as 
you  will  if  you  persist.  There  has  already  been  a 
great  deal  of  talk  about  this  attack  on  the  adoption 
-  people  have  been  blaming  him  for  not  guarding 
against  the  possibility  of  any  such  thing.  You  see 
public  sentiment  is  behind  you!  And  in  spite  of 
anything  you  may  say,  your  act  would  have  the 
appearance  of  pique;  it  would  be  like  slapping  a 
dead  man  in  the  face!" 

"Mr.  Thurston  is  right,  Nan,"  said  Eaton. 
"There  is  not  only  Mr.  Farley's  memory  as  a  kind 
and  just  man  to  protect,  but  you  must  guard 
yourself  against  even  the  appearance  of  resentment. 
The  only  thing  you  have  to  consider  is  Mr.  Farley's 
conscientious  desire  to  provide  for  you,  which  was 
manifest  at  all  times.  As  Mr.  Thurston  says,  that 
last  will  gave  you  absolutely  everything,  cutting 
out  all  the  bequests  he  had  made  at  other  times 
to  benevolence  and  charity.  My  dear  Nan,  your 
scruples  are  absurd!  You  have  n't  any  case  at  all! 
The  idea  of  letting  the  property  Timothy  Farley 
spent  a  laborious  lifetime  accumulating  go  to  the 
State  is  horrible.  I  can  readily  imagine  what  his 
feelings  would  be!  Why,  my  dear  Nan,  rather  than 
let  that  happen,  Thurston  and  I  will  steal  the  whole 
thing  ourselves!" 

She  received  this  with  a  grudging  smile.  What 
they  said  about  the  injustice  to  Farley  of  a  refusal 

360 


"JUST   HELPING;  JUST   BEING   KIND!" 

impressed  her,  but  her  resolution  was  still  unshaken. 
And  there  was  a  stubborn  strain  in  her  of  which 
she  had  only  lately  been  aware. 

She  reached  for  a  pencil,  and  Eaton  pushed  a 
pad  of  paper  toward  her.  She  began  jotting  down 
Farley's  various  bequests  to  charity,  as  provided  in 
the  series  of  wills,  pausing  now  and  then  to  refer 
to  Thurston  for  items  she  only  imperfectly  remem 
bered. 

The  total  was  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  She  tapped  the  paper  reflectively. 

"Of  course,"  remarked  Thurston  anxiously,  as 
he  saw  what  was  in  her  mind,  "you  are  not  bound 
by  any  of  the  legacies  in  those  unsigned  wills. 
Not  one  of  the  wills  contained  all  those  bequests, 
so  your  total  does  n't  represent  what  he  meant  to 
dispose  of  in  that  way.  And  his  last  will  is  evidence 
that  he  had  wholly  changed  his  mind  about  them." 

"We  are  bound  to  accept  that  last  will  as  con 
vincing  proof  of  his  very  great  confidence  in  Miss 
Farley,"  said  Eaton  quickly,  "rather  than  as  an 
expression  of  distrust." 

"We  all  know  perfectly  well  what  he  meant  by 
that,"  Nan  replied.  "But  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  I  have  any  feeling  about  it." 

They  nodded  gravely  as  she  glanced  at  them 
appealingly. 

"I  can  see,"  she  went  on  hurriedly,  "that  my 
refusal  to  accept  anything  at  all  might  look  like 
resentment;  that  it  would  be  in  a  way  unjust  to 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

him."  She  turned  for  a  glance  over  the  fields,  as 
though  seeking  their  counsel.  "Papa  really  wanted 
to  help  people  who  had  n't  a  chance;  he  was  only 
hard  on  the  idle  and  shiftless.  If  he  had  n't  been 
big-hearted  and  generous,  he  never  would  have 
taken  me  up  as  he  did.  And  mamma  was  like  him. 
I  feel  strongly  that  even  if  he  did  change  his  mind 
sometimes,  his  wish  to  help  these  things  —  the 
Boys'  Club,  the  Home  for  Aged  Women,  and  all 
the  rest  —  should  be  respected." 

"That  can't  be  done  unless  you  take  the  whole," 
said  Eaton  quickly.  "But  you  needn't  decide 
about  it  now." 

"Yes;  you  should  wait  a  few  years  at  least!" 
added  Thurston,  crossing  his  legs  nervously. 

"And  since  I  've  been  out  here  and  have  learned 
about  the  girls  Mrs.  Copeland  is  training  to  take 
care  of  themselves,  I  Ve  thought  of  some  other 
things  that  might  be  done,"  said  Nan,  ignoring 
their  manifest  unwillingness  to  acquiesce  in  the 
recognition  of  Farley's  vacillating  benefactions. 
"There  ought  to  be,  in  a  town  like  this,  a  home 
and  training  school  for  girls  who  start  the  wrong 
way,  or  make  mistakes.  We  have  n't  anything 
that  quite  fills  that  need,  and  there  are  a  good 
many  such  girls.  A  hundred  thousand  dollars 
would  provide  such  a  place,  and  it  ought  to  have 
another  hundred  thousand  for  endowment.  Mrs. 
Copeland  and  I  have  talked  of  the  need  for  such 
a  school.  It  would  be  fine  to  start  something  like 

362 


"JUST   HELPING;  JUST   BEING   KIND!" 

that!   And  you  know,"  she  added,  "I  might  have 
been  just  such  a  girl  myself!" 

Thurston  turned  to  Eaton  helplessly. 

"It's  as  plain  as  daylight,"  Eaton  remarked, 
amused  by  the  despair  in  his  associate's  face,  "that 
you  will  soon  pauperize  yourself  at  this  rate.  It's 
only  fair  to  tell  you  that  the  estate  shrank  on  a 
rigid  appraisement  of  Mr.  Farley's  property.  The 
million  the  newspapers  mentioned  has  dwindled  to 
about  eight  hundred  thousand.  If  you  give  away 
all  that's  mentioned  in  those  wills  and  start  this 
girls'  home,  you  won't  be  able  to  keep  more  than 
three  automobiles  for  yourself." 

"Oh,  the  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating  - 
and  I  know  it's  good!"  Nan  laughed.    "I  stuffed 
myself  so  long  without  thinking  about  my  hungry 
neighbors  that  it  won't  hurt  me  to  pass  the  plate 
down  the  table!" 

"Well,  the  main  thing,"  said  Thurston,  "is  to 
get  your  assurance  that  you'll  accept  the  estate 
under  your  rights  as  Mr.  Farley's  adopted  daugh 
ter.  I  suppose  we  can't  prevent  your  giving  it  away 
without  having  you  declared  insane!" 

"  I  dare  you  to  try  it!"  Then,  more  serious  than 
at  any  time  during  the  interview,  she  said :  "  You  '11 
have  to  let  me  reason  it  out  my  own  way.  It  was 
only  a  piece  of  luck  that  I  was  n't  thrown  into  an 
orphan  asylum  or  left  to  die  on  the  river  bank 
when  the  Parleys  gave  me  a  home.  I  shall  never 
forget  that  —  never  again,"  she  added  with  deep 

363 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

feeling.  "The  least  I  can  do  is  to  pass  my  good  luck 
on.  I  Ve  thought  all  that  out,  so  please  don't  make 
me  talk  of  it  any  more!" 

Then,  as  the  men  rose  to  leave,  Fanny  appeared, 
and  urged  them  to  remain  to  dinner.  Thurston 
pleaded  an  engagement  in  town;  Eaton  said  he 
would  stay. 

"You've  broken  that  man's  heart,  Nan,"  Eaton 
remarked,  as  Thurston  rolled  away  in  his  ma 
chine. 

"What  did  you  do  to  him,  Nancy?"  asked 
Fanny. 

"She  scared  him  to  death!   He's  convinced  that 

she's  headed  for  an  insane  asylum  —  that's  all," 

chuckled  Eaton.    "Mere  altruism  does  n't  interest 

Thurston;  he  thinks  it  just  a  sign  of  weak  character 

-  worse  than  a  weak  chin." 

"I've  always  thought,"  said  Fanny,  as  her  arm 
stole  around  Nan,  "that  Nancy  has  a  very  nice 
chin." 

"I  might  go  further,"  Eaton  remarked  daringly, 
"and  say  that  the  face  in  its  entirety  is  pleasant 
and  inspiring  to  look  at!" 

"Stop  teasing  me!"  cried  Nan,  "or  I'll  run  out 
to  the  barn  and  cry." 

They  were  still  talking  in  this  strain  when  Cope- 
land's  machine  appeared  in  the  driveway. 

"I  didn't  tell  you  that  we're  having  a  party 
to-night,"  said  Fanny.  "Unless  I  'm  mistaken,  Mr. 
Amidon  is  driving  that  machine." 

364 


"JUST  HELPING;  JUST  BEING   KIND!" 

She  walked  to  the  veranda  rail  and  looked  ex 
pectantly  toward  the  approaching  car.  Though 
Billy  had  lately  paid  a  visit  to  the  farm,  Nan  had 
not  met  him.  Fanny,  with  her  usual  frankness, 
had  warned  Nan  of  the  expected  visit,  and  Nan 
had  carefully  kept  out  of  the  way.  She  had  not 
seen  Billy  since  the  night  he  proposed  the  destruc 
tion  of  Farley's  will. 

Copeland  jumped  from  the  machine  and  ran  up 
the  steps,  while  Jerry  disposed  of  the  car.  He 
shook  hands  with  Fanny,  and  then  turned  toward 
Nan  inquiringly. 

She  was  already  walking  toward  him. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Billy." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Nan,"  he  said,  and  added 
in  a  slightly  lower  tone,  "  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  here." 

"And  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  —  here!" 

Both  knew  what  was  in  the  other's  thoughts. 
Copeland  bowed  slightly,  and  crossed  to  Eaton, 
who  was  gazing  fixedly  at  the  gathering  glories  of 
the  sunset. 

Jerry,  in  a  gray  suit,  and  the  very  tallest  collar 
he  could  buy,  now  added  himself  to  the  group. 
He  bent  over  Mrs.  Copeland's  hand  with  his  best 
imitation  of  Eaton's  manner,  and  then,  as  he  raised 
his  head,  looked  around  furtively  to  see  whether 
his  mentor  was  watching  him. 

The  laughter  that  greeted  this  had  the  effect  of 
putting  them  all  at  ease. 

"I  knew  Jerry  could  do  it,"  said  Nan,  "but  I 

365 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

did  n't  suppose  he  would  dare  try  it  in  his  Cecil's 
presence." 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  re 
marked  Eaton,  feigning  indignation  at  their  treat 
ment  of  his  protege.  "If  you're  not  satisfied  with 
Jeremiah's  manners,  we'll  both  go  home." 

Nan  ran  away  to  change  her  clothes  and  reap 
peared  just  as  dinner  was  announced. 

"Please  sit  wherever  you  happen  to  be,"  said 
Fanny,  as  they  reached  the  dining-room;  and  then, 
as  they  sat  down,  she  bit  her  lip  and  colored,  finding 
that  it  fell  to  Copeland's  lot  to  sit  opposite  her. 
Eaton,  noticing  her  embarrassment,  immediately 
charged  Copeland  Farms  with  responsibility  for  the 
high  cost  of  living. 

"You  must  watch  Nan  carefully,  Mrs.  Copeland. 
She's  grinding  the  face  of  the  poor.  I  heard  Mrs. 
Harrington  complaining  bitterly  last  night  about 
the  price  she  has  to  pay  for  such  trifling  necessities 
as  eggs  and  butter.  You  're  going  to  bring  a  French 
Revolution  on  this  country  if  you're  not  careful. 
And  there  will  be  eggs  thrown  that  don't  bear  the 
Copeland  Farm's  stamp." 

"  I  refuse  to  have  this  suit  spoiled  with  any  other 
kind,"  Jerry  protested.  "Speaking  of  eggs  — 

"No,  you  don't!"  Nan  interrupted.  "You  can't 
tell  any  of  your  country-hotel  egg  stories  here.  I 
refuse  to  hear  them." 

"All  right,  then ;  we'll  drop  the  eggs.  I  was  shak 
ing  hands  with  old  friends  on  the  lower  Wabash 

366 


"JUST  HELPING;  JUST   BEING   KIND!" 

last  week  and  struck  three  slabs  of  cocoanut  pie  in 
three  days.  I  'm  going  to  make  a  map  of  the  pie 
habits  of  the  Hoosiers  and  send  it  out  as  a  Cope- 
land-Farley  advertisement.  I  've  been  all  over  the 
State  lately,  and  I  Ve  never  found  cocoanut  pie 
north  of  Logansport,  and  you  never  find  it  east  of 
Seymour  going  south.  Down  along  the  Ohio  you 
can  stand  on  hotel  porches  in  the  peach  season 
and  see  thousands  of  acres  of  peaches  spoiling  on 
the  trees,  and  you  go  inside  and  find  dried-peach 
pie  on  the  programme.  And  you  have  to  eat  it 
or  take  sliced  bananas  or  hard  chunks  of  canned 
pineapple.  No  wonder  traveling  men  go  wrong !  I 
wonder  at  times  at  my  own  pure  life!" 

It  was  evident  that  they  liked  Jerry.  They  en 
couraged  him  to  talk,  and  he  passed  lightly  from 
Praxiteles,  whom  he  had  just  discovered  in  a  maga 
zine  article,  to  the  sinfulness  of  the  cut-price  drug 
store,  which  he  pronounced  the  greatest  of  com 
mercial  iniquities. 

After  coffee  on  the  veranda,  Eaton  quietly  dis 
appeared.  Then  Jerry  and  Nan  went  off  for  a 
stroll,  leaving  Copeland  and  Fanny  together. 

"I  guess  that's  coming  out  all  right,"  remarked 
Jerry,  indicating  the  veranda  with  a  wave  of  his 
straw  hat.  "But  it's  tough  on  Cecil.  I've  been 
wondering  whether  she  knows  how  it's  going  to 
hit  him." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not!  But  that's  something  we'll 
never  know." 

367 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Of  course,  Cecil  needn't  have  done  all  the 
things  he  did  to  bring  them  together  again.  He 
might  have  let  the  boss  go  by  the  board.  It  was  n't 
just  money  that  saved  the  boss!  it  was  John  Cecil's 
strong  right  arm!" 

"And  yours,  too,  Jerry!  Oh,  yes;  I  know  more 
about  it  than  you  think  I  do.  You  helped  —  you 
did  a  lot  to  save  him." 

"Well,  if  I  did,"  he  admitted  grudgingly,  "that 
was  Cecil,  too.  I'd  been  busy  rustling  for  myself 
• —  never  caring  a  hang  for  the  other  fellow  —  till 
Cecil  got  hold  of  me.  I  've  wondered  a  good  deal 
how  he  did  it  —  a  scrub  like  me!" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Jerry;  it  had  to  be  in  you 
first.  But  he  does  make  people  want  to  be  different. 
He's  certainly  affected  me  that  way." 

"Oh,  you!"  he  exclaimed  disdainfully. 

"Well,  don't  you  ever  think  I'm  proud  of  my 
self,  Jeremiah  Amidon!"  She  paused  abruptly  at 
the  edge  of  a  brook  that  tinkled  musically  on  its 
way  to  the  river.  "I'm  only  just  beginning  to  try 
to  be  self-respecting  and  decent  and  useful;  I 
think  it's  going  to  be  a  lot  of  fun  if  I  ever  get 
started." 

"Well,  I  hope  to  see  you  on  the  cars  sometimes. 
I've  got  the  same  ticket,  but  I'm  not  sure  it's 
good  on  the  limited.  I  'm  likely  to  be  chucked  at 
the  first  tank." 

They  jumped  the  brook  and  followed  a  cow 
path  across  a  broad  pasture,  talking  of  old  times 

368 


"JUST  HELPING;   JUST  BEING   KIND!" 

on  the  Ohio,  and  of  Farley,  of  whom  Jerry  always 
spoke  in  highest  reverence,  and  then  of  his  own 
prospects. 

Both  were  subdued  by  the  influences  of  the  night. 
The  stars  hung  near;  it  seemed  to  Jerry  that  they 
had  stolen  closer  to  earth  to  enfold  Nan  in  their 
soft  radiance.  A  new  idea  had  possessed  him  of 
late.  His  heart  throbbed  with  it  to-night. 

"In  a  place  like  this,"  he  began  slowly,  "you 
think  a  lot  of  things  that  would  n't  strike  you  any 
where  else." 

"  It 's  just  the  dear  country  lonesomeness.  I  come 
out  here  often  in  the  evenings ;  used  to  in  the  winter, 
when  the  snow  was  deepest.   I  love  all  this  - 
She  stretched  out  her  arms  with  a  quick  gesture 
comprehensive  of  the  star-hung  fields. 

Jerry's  rejection  increased.  The  more  he  saw  of 
Nan  the  less  he  seemed  to  count  in  her  affairs. 
A  Nan  who  tramped  snowy  fields  and  took  counsel 
of  the  heavens  was  beyond  his  reach  — immeasur 
ably  beyond. 

"I  don't  take  hold  of  things  the  way  you  do, 
Nan.  Being  out  here  just  makes  me  lonesome,  that's 
all.  I've  got  to  be  where  I  can  see  electric  signs 
spelling  words  on  tall  buildings.  Just  hearing  that 
trolley  tooting  away  over  there  helps  some;  must 
be  because  it's  going  toward  the  lights." 

"If  you  feel  so  terribly,  maybe  we'd  better  go 
back!"  she  said  tauntingly  and  took  a  step  down 
ward. 

369 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

"Don't  do  that  again!  If  you  leave  me  here  in 
the  dark  I'll  be  scared  to  death." 

"That  would  be  a  blow  to  the  human  race,"  she 
mocked. 

"Well,  I've  had  blows  enough!" 

"You  hide  the  scars  well  —  I  can  say  that!" 
she  flung  back. 

"Listen,  Nan- 

"I  thought  John  Cecil  had  broken  you  of  the 
'listen'  habit." 

"Forget  it!  You  know  perfectly  well  what  I 
want  to  tell  you!" 

"Then,  why  do  we  linger?  We  really  must  go!" 

"My  business  is  selling  goods  and  it's  a  rule  of 
the  game  never  to  let  a  customer  turn  his  back  on 
you." 

"All  right;  you  go  first!" 

"Nan"  -he  drew  nearer  and  planted  himself 
in  her  path  —  "you  can't  go  —  not  till  I  Ve  prom 
ised  to  marry  you!" 

This  reversal  of  the  established  formula  evoked 
a  gay  laugh;  but  she  did  not  attempt  to  pass  him. 

"I  never  meant  to  ask  you;  I  was  afraid  you'd 
marry  me  for  my  money  and  I  want  to  be  loved 
for  myself  alone!  And  don't  think  I  'd  be  mention 
ing  it  now  if  I  wasn't  so  lonesome  I  could  cry! 
If  you're  going  to  take  that  money,  it's  all  off, 
anyhow.  I  can't  afford  to  have  anybody  question 
ing  my  motives.  As  far  as  loving  you's  concerned, 
I  started  full  time  that  first  day  we  met  on  the 

370 


"JUST  HELPING;   JUST   BEING    KIND!" 

river  bank,  when  you  pulled  my  fly  out  of  the  tree. 
I  might  just  as  well  have  told  you  then  —  and  I 
wish  I  had!" 

"Well,  you  need  n't  scold  me  about  it  now!" 

"I'm  not  scolding.  I'm  just  telling  you  what 
you  missed!" 

"Why  don't  you  give  me  another  chance?  I 
know  I  'm  only  a  poor  working  girl  - 

"  Nan,  I  wish  you  were  that!"  he  cried  earnestly. 
"But  all  that  money's  coming  to  you  now.  I 
would  n't  have  the  nerve  - 

"It  would  be  the  first  time  your  nerve  ever 
failed!"  Then,  fearing  she  had  wounded  him,  she 
added  quickly,  "Of  course,  I  did  n't  mean  that." 

"Nan!" 

"Well,  don't  cry,  little  boy!" 

"Nan!" 

"Yes,  Jerry." 

" I  love  you,  Nan!"  he  said  gently.  "I  wish  you 
cared  even  a  little  bit." 

"It's  a  good  deal  more  than  that,  Jerry." 

He  took  her  hands  and  kissed  them.  There  was 
a  great  awe  in  his  heart. 

KNan,  this  does  n't  seem  right,  you  being  you; 
and  you  know  what  I  am!" 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  are,  Jerry,  —  you're 
fine  and  loyal  and  good!" 

"  I  'm  going  to  try  to  be,"  he  said  humbly. 

"And  you've  helped  me  more  than  I  could  make 
you  understand,  from  that  very  first  day  we  met, 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  PUDDING 

when  I  hated  myself  so!  You  brought  back  the 
old  days;  everything  that  has  happened  since  has 
made  me  think  of  you.  You  were  the  only  per 
son  around  here  who  really  knew  all  about  me  - 
just  what  I  came  from,  and  all  that.  And  it  helped 
me  to  see  how  bravely  you  were  fighting  your  own 
way  up.  I  had  the  chance  forced  on  me  that  you 
made  for  yourself.  And  I  made  a  mess  of  every 
thing!  Oh,  Jerry!" 

She  clung  to  him,  crying.  As  he  kissed  away  her 
tears,  the  touch  of  her  wet  cheek  thrilled  him.  .  .  . 

"We  must  n't  be  so  happy  we  can't  remember 
other  people,"  she  said  as  they  loitered  hand  in 
hand  toward  the  house. 

"  I  guess  that 's  the  only  way,  Nan.  That 's  what 
Cecil's  always  saying.  And  I  guess  he's  about 
right  about  everything." 

Eaton  passed  them,  unconscious  of  their  nearness. 
He  walked  with  head  erect,  as  one  who  has  fought 
and  won  a  good  fight.  A  sense  of  all  his  victory 
had  cost  him  was  in  both  their  hearts.  There  was 
an  infinite  pathos  in  his  figure  as  he  strode  through 
the  dusk,  returning  to  the  woman  he  loved  and  to 
the  man  he  had  saved  and  given  back  to  her. 

"It's  tough  on  Cecil,"  said  Jerry  chokingly. 
"It  doesn't  seem  quite  square,  some  way — I 
mean  the  Copelands  hitting  it  off  again." 

"Well,  we  may  be  sure  he  does  n't  feel  that  way," 
Nan  answered.  "It's  all  come  out  the  way  he 
wanted  it  to.  He  brought  them  together." 

372 


THE   TOUCH    OF    HER    WET    CHEEK   THRILLED    HIM 


"JUST  HELPING;  JUST  BEING   KIND!" 

"It's  funny,  Nan;  but  I'm  never  dead  sure  I 
catch  Cecil's  drift  —  the  scheme  or  whatever  it  is 
he  works  by.  I  can't  find  it  in  the  books  he  gives 
me  to  read." 

"It  isn't  in  books,  Jerry;  it's  in  his  heart  — 
just  helping;  just  being  kind!" 


THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


A     000058187     6 


• 


